


Life after Erasure

by Quinis



Series: Erasure Series [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar
Genre: Gen, Neal Caffrey is Dick Grayson, Neal origin story, muddled up the canon timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 67,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinis/pseuds/Quinis
Summary: He erased himself and ran away. Taking the name Neal Caffrey, he really didn't expect his life to take the turn it did. Can he find happiness after leaving everything behind?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the long awaited Erasure sequel where we find out what happened to Dick after he erased himself and ran away ([Erasure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6847909) is a one shot, go read if you haven't because it's the foundation of this story). And wow, I did not expect the direction this story went in. So, it is a crossover where Dick became Neal Caffrey and it's not the first time I've done a story like this (see ['Seven Years Running'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4810019/chapters/11011673)). However, it's a little different to White Collar fanfic as it starts at the beginning of Neal Caffrey. There'll be familiar characters to people who have watched White Collar and familiar plot.  
> I haven't figured out how closely it's going to relate to White Collar events. So far it's used information we know about Neal before Mozzie but that doesn't mean I won't make plot changes further long.
> 
> I'm hoping to write this so that you don't have to have seen White Collar or know anything DC if you're a White Collar fan. But if there are any questions, I can answer them if you review (or comment on the story on AO3, I can respond to anonymous/guest comments over there).
> 
> Now, having erased himself, I have made some writing choices, especially when it comes to Dick/Neal. Some DC fans might find the lack of DC presence in these first few chapters disappointing. I plan to sprinkle them at the start. There will be a reveal! This is the only promise will can make for this story. The family will find Dick. I don't know when it'll happen but I do hope you can stick around long enough for the DC characters and plot to come in.

**Chapter 1**

A man without a name sat in the airport waiting area. He was sitting at the cafe, just out of sight of the cameras, humming to himself as he drank his third cup of coffee and pretended to read a book. Dark hair covered his blue eyes and his grin was bright and welcoming. He finished his coffee and ordered another one.

"...Nealy Caffrey..."

He froze as the server spoke. He had only been half listening. "What?"

"Sorry," the server responded, looking down and blushing a little in embarrassment. "I said, you look really carefree."

'Really carefree'... he had heard it as 'Neal Caffrey'.

"I guess," he responded with a grin, encouraging the server to talk more.

"Where are you travelling to?"

"Why do you think I'm travelling?" he asked her kindly and with a playful grin.

She gasped. "Did you just arrive? I'm sorry...no, wait. You've been here since before the planes started landing."

He laughed a warm laugh. "I know. I've kind of been trying to decide where to go. I'm the kind of guy who just can't stay in one place for long." He picked up his bag and put his book away. "Tell me, if you could go anywhere, where would you like to go?"

The server thought for a moment, twirling her long brown plait in her fingers as she did.

"Paris," she decided. "I've always wanted to go and see The Louvre."

He hummed. Sounded interesting enough. Honestly, he didn't really care where he ended up.

"Sounds nice. I hope you get to go there one day."

She nodded but didn't really have much to add. He smiled at her one last time before moving away.

A nameless man left Gotham.

Neal Caffrey landed in New York. He smiled and made conversation with the other travellers before catching a flight to Paris.

* * *

Neal decided to try going out to meet people. However, he couldn't do gymnastics or any kind of martial art as he didn't want to attract attention. It was time to try something else.

Somehow he learnt about art lessons held for English speakers. A place to meet people while learning a new skill.

Neal flashed back to a normally abrasive young boy shyly showing him some of the pictures in his art book. It was probably a little too sentimental of him; they always thought he was a little too sentimental, but Neal couldn't just ignore the memory or the way it felt like recapturing a piece of himself to draw and paint.

He was good at it. Neal imagined it was the time he spent as a kid and later a police officer, taking witness statements and creating a picture of the criminal. Sometimes, often when he was younger and in training, it involved making an actual picture of what he thought the criminal looked like. He had also learnt how to reconstruct crime scenes in images, track crimes on maps and try to build a small or big picture.

Those skills translated to painting well. As for the stuff which he didn't have any skills for, there were a lot of hours in the night. After years of tight, minimal sleep schedules for a nightlife lifestyle, Neal often either couldn't get to sleep at the same time as others or was awake long before the sun.

The former was more common than the later. Neal spent long hours at night just practising painting and art to help calm the jitters under his skin which wanted to be out on the rooftops.

* * *

Neal didn't have much money. He did whatever jobs would take him. He tried to make some money off his art.

That didn't go well. People bought a couple of pieces and he only made one commission towards the end of his time as a 'starving artist'.

* * *

His first commission was to recreate a painting hanging in an art museum. They supplied the paints, all the information on the painting he could ever need and even gave him some pointers on how to recreate the artist's style.

Neal wasn't raised an idiot, despite what people in his past life might have thought. He had been commissioned to make a forgery to either be sold as the real piece or used to replace the real piece in a robbery. Considering the real piece was hanging in a museum, it was probably the latter. He was smart enough not to confront them on his thoughts. They had guns. He hadn't brought any weapons with him to Paris.

Neal painted their picture. He listened to their conversations, they didn't seem to realise he was fluent in French, and he profiled them. They were the kind of criminals who would do the crime the moment the painting was finished. That made his plan easier.

He found the real painting and scouted the place. Since there were already people planning a break in, he only needed to be able to piggyback off their plan.

When the painting was finished, Neal was paid and allowed to go on his merry way. Neal set up surveillance on the criminals, followed them to the museum and emerged from the shadows to knock them out. It was liberating to stand there with the three 'criminal masterminds' unconscious and tied up at his feet and two paintings resting against the wall.

Maybe it was the adrenaline or maybe it was just him giving way a little after months away from his family but Neal looked at the two paintings and had an idea.

He pulled a piece of paper out from one of the criminal's pockets, the pockets of the guy who hired him for that little bit of extra irony, and scribbled a message which he stuck into the frame of the painting.

'Real or not?' It even looked like the criminal's handwriting.

Neal grinned and left with his fake. He made sure the person he was selling it to knew it was a stolen painting. Neal made off with enough money to keep him comfortable for a while, before the museum could confirm that they had the real one. The only sad part is that he missed the look on the rich, corrupt businessman's face when he realised he had bought a forgery.

* * *

After the rush to leave Paris, Neal made his way around Europe. He learnt new things and ended up honing his forgery skills along with some of the other skills he had learnt when younger. He chose to stay in the lower class areas which were also places where criminals lived and worked. He saw the kinds of criminals his brothers would like to hit.

However, Neal also met another kind of criminal. The one who did it because it was the only life they knew. It was a way to put food on the table and make sure their families were kept warm, fed and safe. They stole for their mothers, fathers, wives, sons and daughters. Not everywhere was like his home city, where someone who really wanted to make honest work had support to do so if they knew where to look. That wasn't to say it was easy back in his home city but it was easier than being stuck as a career criminal. These were otherwise nice people. Neal often babysat the kids for some guys he made friends with while travelling.

Neal wasn't sure when exactly the tipping point was. He did a job stealing jewellery with a man whose invalid mother Neal had made friends with. She had asked him to look after her son and Neal had already broken one family and he didn't want to see that happen to another. He spent a lot of his time hanging with people who admitted to stealing and breaking other laws. They bragged and Neal scoffed and they asked him if he could do better.

* * *

He didn't think his mentor intended for his pickpocket skills to be used whenever he needed a little of the local cash but Neal didn't take from anyone who couldn't afford it. Plus, most of the larger scores he made from less than legal means were put away in case he needed to run, not for little things like food and temporary lodgings.

He needed to run in Spain when he caught wind of Red Hood gunning his way through one of the gangs. Apparently the boss had done something overseas to make Red Hood mad and the anti-hero hunted him and his gang down.

Neal was out of there, hightailing it back to France and making his way down to Monaco. While he didn't hold ill will towards those from his past life, he still didn't want to go through the awkwardness of seeing them again.

 

Sometimes he had nightmares about meeting his family again. In some, they scoffed and insinuated that it was better now that he was gone. In some, they killed him. It was either by accident, like that one dream that ended with him getting between Red Hood and someone he was shooting, or they pushed him off something because they didn't want him around.

The ones he thought most likely though? Those were the ones where they didn't even recognise him. His previous self had been erased after all so they probably just forgot he even existed.

 

Avoiding them was the best option. Besides, he had heard about a good way to kill some time in Monaco.


	2. Chapter 2

One of the guys Neal met in Spain mentioned there was going to be a professional backgammon tournament in Monaco so Neal made his way there. It was a good idea. He enjoyed talking with his opponents and meeting new people. Although some of the players were rather competitive and this made their personalities rather nasty, Neal still played with a smile as he defeated them one after another. He didn't even have to cheat. Much.

"Neal Caffrey?" his next opponent questioned as he sat down. He held out a hand. "Matthew Keller."

"Hi," Neal said, taking the offered hand. Matthew had his dark hair combed back and was dressed in a dress shirt with a black jacket. It was much fancier than Neal's white shirt and slacks.

They set up the game in silence, Matthew not taking his eyes off Neal.

"Is something wrong?" Neal questioned as they started playing.

"Not at all," Matthew responded. "I've just heard a little about you. You did some work in Barcelona; does the Museu Picasso job ring a bell?"

Neal paused for a moment and he was certain a little of his surprise showed on his face. That had been one the biggest jobs he had taken to date, right before getting out of the country. It had been more proving that the museum could be broken into than making a big score. The worth of what he stole was rather small but he proved to the community that it could be done.

"Where'd you hear that?" he asked.

Matthew smiled again. It was as good as a confirmation except it wouldn't do any good in court.

"Relax. I'm no fed. In fact, I'm looking for a man of your talents." Matthew made his move and Neal paused, frowning slightly.

"Not interested." He took his turn and watched as Matthew made his. Matthew manipulated one of the die as he put it in the cup to roll it, giving him the numbers he needed to put himself in the lead.

Matthew was cheating. He was giving Neal some evidence that he wasn't an honest guy. Didn't mean he couldn't be a fed.

The game continued and Neal started manipulating his rolls as well whenever Keller manipulated his. With one final move, made just in time because Neal had moved first, he won the game.

"Well, good game," Matthew admitted with a smile. They both knew the other had been cheating. Neal expected him to be upset but instead, Matthew pulled out a card with a hotel address on it. The other side had a room number and a private number scribbled on it. "I would relish the opportunity to work with you. I have a job lined up which I think you'll be perfect for."

Neal raised a curious eyebrow. "And how do you know that?" he queried.

Matthew's grin didn't waver as he said, "if you perform even half as well as you have needed to for the Museu Picasso job, then you'd be perfect for what I have planned."

They parted ways. Neal didn't expect to hear from Matthew again.

* * *

Neal sat at the bar, listening to all the gossip around him. His ears were trained for any news regarding any of the heroes. He didn't expect to hear much as no one who would know him worked in this area but being cautious was important.

It was how he realised Matthew Keller was in the establishment. The guy had a recognisable voice with an uncommon accent for Monaco.

"So Caffrey, I haven't heard from you," Matthew said as he slipped into the stool next to him.

Neal rolled his eyes as Matthew reached over and shook the hand of the lady Neal had been talking to. She had long black hair and the tall figure of a model. She was also French, her English heavily accented.

"Lovely to meet you, I'm sure Neal has spoken about me," Matthew said with a grin.

"Not at all," Maryse responded politely.

"I'm Matthew Keller. Neal and I work together."

"Really?"

"Don't bother with him, Maryse," Neal interrupted. "He just wants us to work together. I haven't taken the offer yet."

"'Yet' implies you still might," Matthew responded with a shrugged. He grinned at Maryse. "Lovely name for a lovely lady. Would you like to hear my offer?"

Maryse waved him off, taking a sip from her drink. "I already work. Modelling is my passion."

"Of course. But help me convince this stick-in-the-mud that he should help with my business venture."

Maryse placed her empty wine glass onto the bar. "I'd rather not. I spend enough of my time around pushy salesmen." She turned to Neal and he realised that his opportunity to spend some time getting to know her and her, him had vanished.

"Farewell," he said to her, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to it. She might be interested enough to seek him out at a later date.

* * *

Once the model was gone, Neal turned to Matthew. He was grinning and Neal couldn't tell if he had planned to push his date for the evening away or if it was just happenstance.

"What 'business venture' is so important that you stalk me to my drinking spots?" he demanded to know.

Matthew chucked and spread his arms out. "Coincidence, Caffrey. Come on, I saw you and got curious. You never did call me. I'm starting to feel like a jilted lover."

Neal clicked his tongue in a way which echoed a kid he used to know. "Maybe I'm not interested, Matthew."

"I promise to keep you interested." Matthew outlined the plan. Without Neal, it was going to be a smash and grab. With Neal's talents, Matthew was certain he could achieve his goal without anyone noticing.

"What's the fun in that?" Neal questioned.

"The rumours will say we did it," Matthew pointed out with a wicked grin. "But the only person who will know for sure will be the one who pays me for the figurine we take."

Neal frowned. Matthew inched closer. "Come on, Neal. I'm sure your clever enough to cut and leave if it all goes sour."

Neal downed the rest of his drink. "Whatever. Let's do this," he sighed. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. Matthew was right; Neal was ready to cut his losses and run at any moment. There was nothing keeping him anywhere.

* * *

The plan went off without a hitch and they found themselves a few thousand dollars richer.

Matthew treated Neal to a couple of drinks while they hustled pool. They jumped from bar to bar before leaving Monaco and went north into France. Matthew convinced him to fly across to London and con some of the upper class there.

Neal never really played pick-pocket games with people before. But he did with Matthew. There were a lot of different ways to play. Neal was best at getting a large sum, even without picking the mark's pocket. Matthew never failed to act impressed when Neal managed to get someone to hand over cash just by talking with them.

Matthew was better at making a lot. He could pick pocket after pocket and almost got them arrested in Lyon, France when he got a little violent knocking into people to take their hard earned money.

Once they reached London, they separated for a bit. Matthew had another job and Neal wanted to travel alone.

Neal found he needed to call Matthew a few days after arriving in London.

"Caffrey, this is unexpected," Matthew said in a light tone. "Missed me already?"

"Ha ha," Neal responded. "I kind of need your help. Are you nearby?" Neal gave off his address. Matthew said he would come and Neal started to breathe easier. "Bring a ladder," he said before hanging up.

Matthew hadn't been far away. Which was good because the ledge was cold. With only a gold tray covering his privates, his body was chilly and he shivered with every breeze.

The window he was standing next to opened and the angry face of a guard popped out. His face was round, red and his hair was thinning at the top but Neal didn't doubt the guard's willingness to shoot him.

"...Hi?" Neal said with a one-handed wave when the guard spotted him. He was careful to hold the tray still. "As you can see, I'm unarmed and I assure you, I had no intention of doing anything untoward with the princess. She just invited me to her room for tea."

The guard's eyes narrowed as he called for assistance.

"Really, there was no need to do that," Neal sighed. "I am going to leave."

A car pulled up at that moment, Matthew getting out and looking up. Neal could see the exact moment the other man spotted him. A wide grin appeared on Matthew's face and Neal could hear him laughing. Unfortunately, that tipped the guard off to Neal's escape and he pulled a gun.

Neal sighed. It looked like no one was going to give him time to descend via ladder. He jumped off the ledge, grabbed onto the flag pole standing in the courtyard and swung his way down around the pole. One handed. The tray didn't even slip from where it was covering as he dropped to the ground.

"What have you been up to Caffrey?" Matthew questioned as Neal dashed around to the passenger side of the car.

Neal barked back a, "drive!" as he jumped in.

Matthew laughed every time he caught a glimpse of the gold tray but he drove and got them out of there.

"So, was she a duchess?" Matthew guessed once they were far away from the guards and their guns.

"Nope," Neal responded with flaming hot cheeks. Matthew was seeing more of him than he ever intended. "Princess."

Matthew laughed harder. Neal didn't even think that was possible. "A princess? Classic, Caffrey, just classic."

"Whatever," Neal responded, rolling his eyes. He had liked spending time with her. It just would have been nice to know she was a princess before the guards started pounding on her door and demanding to check on her. That check had her pushing Neal outside, onto the window ledge with nothing but the solid gold tray.

"Hey," Matthew said, wrapping an arm around Neal's shoulders. "Forget about her. I've got another job we could do."


	3. Chapter 3

Neal's muscles were tense with the urge to hurt something. His eyes and head felt a rush of energy and heat as he turned to glare at Keller. He couldn't think of him as Matthew anymore, not after what he had witnessed earlier.

Keller was humming to himself as he cleaned his gun.

They were currently sitting in an abandoned warehouse, loot tucked away in a storage container behind them. Not that Neal cared about that right now. Keller could have the loot. It was stained with blood.

"There was no reason to kill him," Neal pointed out in a hard voice.

"Shut up, Caffrey," Keller responded. "I did what had to be done."

"He thought he forgot his passport!" Neal yelled angrily. "That was no reason to shoot him!" Neal didn't even bother mentioning how Keller had searched the body and found the passport on their third man.

Keller huffed and assembled his gun. "You're really cramping my style, Caffrey. Get over it. Now we only have to split the money two ways."

Neal's hands clenched at his sides. He itched to punch Keller and drag him to the nearest law authority to turn him in.

"I don't care about the money. I care about how you shot him without even hesitating!"

Keller shoved the barrel of the gun in Neal's face.

"The only reason I didn't shoot you as a witness is because you make a good opponent," Keller said, nodding his head in the direction of the chessboard where just 24 hours, they had played a game of chess together.

Neal's heart felt sick just thinking of it. He took two big steps forward and grabbed Keller's wrist. He shoved Keller's hand down so the barrel was pointing at the ground.

"Then don't point that at me unless you intend to shot me," Neal hissed. "And keep your money. I'm out."

"Really? That's a shame, Caffrey," Keller hummed.

Neal stormed out. He tossed his phone and bought another one. He cleared out any place that Keller knew about. He had to shift around many things but it would be worth it to keep his distance from that killer.

* * *

Neal closed his eyes to memories and nightmares.

_He and Keller were sitting in the back of a truck, being ferried away from their latest escapade. Behind them were boxes filled with their loot. Keller laughed as Neal waved around a lit candle, assessing some of the antiques they had acquired._

_"People really pay a lot of money for this stuff, huh?" Neal questioned thoughtfully. It didn't really make much sense for him. He had gotten used to seeing this stuff in his old mentor's mansion but that didn't mean he was used to thinking about how much some people would pay for stuff._

_It was mostly '_ that $500 000 vase in the corner which belonged to a great-grandfather or something _,' rather than '_ that vase which someone else would pay $500, 000 for _'. A subtle difference but a difference nonetheless._

_"Caffrey, you'd be surprised what some people would pay money for," Keller laughed._

_They passed the time in the truck talking about different things and even playing a couple of chess games._

 

_Then the world would shift and they would be walking away from yet another successful heist. The third man would pat his pockets and hesitate for a moment._

_"Give me a moment, I think I dropped my passport."_

**Bang!**

_Blood spreading out on a shirt before stopping as a heart stopped._

He should have been able to do something. Instead he watched. He walked away. Sometimes the scene would change to those he had once called family, jumping over rooftops and an almost unknown figure falling to their death in the background. He should have been able to save them.

Neal spent hours wondering if he was making the right choice by leaving Keller alone. The murder would remain unsolved unless he did something. Keller certainly wasn't going to hand himself in. Worst of all, Neal knew Keller wasn't going to stop killing people who got in his way.

But, just as Neal had made it difficult for Keller to have any idea where he went, Neal had no idea where Keller had gone. Besides, without a confession, there wasn't much he could do. The evidence was not enough.

Keller was never going to confess.

Neal would have to wait and bide his time until he could arrange for Keller to pay.

* * *

Ever since his partnership with Keller broke into pieces, Neal felt a yearning to return home. However, he had made sure he wouldn't have a place to return to.

Neal wanted a place to return to. When he thought about it, New York had been the first place he used the name 'Neal Caffrey'. It couldn't hurt to return there. Maybe being back in America would make the yawning and gnawing pain in his chest go away.

New York was large and busy. Neal was a speck in the millions of people running around the city. He was hidden but able to live.

Neal drew people in the park. He made some quick cash on the streets. Some New Yorkers weren't careful with where they put their wallets. However, if he was going to live here, he knew he would need a lot more money. Neal decided to go looking for a challenge.

He needed something to quell the itch in his hands. The desire to go out and punch criminals in the face. To help people in trouble. He needed something which hadn't been done before. He was a forger but forged paintings were everywhere and Neal had already forged a painting or two. It was nothing new. Forging money was a bad idea. He had no control over where the money went after it left his hands. He didn't want some overworked mother to be unable to get milk for her baby because she acquired a forged bill of his somewhere. Fake money could float around, changing hands until it gets noticed. That thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

Forging IDs wasn't exactly the big score he was after. It was boring. He could do it in thirty seconds with passport photos, scissors, the right images and glue. If it looked legit and he put enough work into convincing the target that the ID was legit and didn't let them get a good look, then even a weak job like that was enough.

The idea for forging bonds came from the bank. He thought about it, did a search and found that there were many different bonds, some claiming to be difficult to impossible to forge. Like the Atlantic Incorporated bonds. They looked very blue and Neal quite liked the colour blue.

Two weeks into living in New York, Neal decided to forge some bonds for cash.

* * *

 _Dear diary,_ Neal thought to himself. _I met a man in the park today._

Whatever method Mozzie had used to track him from the 'Find the Lady' game in the park to his new apartment, Neal hadn't noticed. The little man with glasses, a bald head and horrible taste in wigs had been impressed with Neal's ability to swap out one of the cards for one of his own to create a 'lady' where there hadn't been one.

Neal would attest that he hated games like that, where they were told to pick or find something like the Queen card in a set of three face-down cards. Too many people cheated by not putting the Queen out. He just swapped in a Queen card using the skills he had learnt when he was just a kid running around the circus to make it even.

Still, Mozzie was impressed. And he was also impressed with Neal's skill at forging the bonds. He wanted to work together.

Neal was more than a little hesitant, especially after how his last partnership ended. Mozzie seemed like an alright guy though. He offered to teach Neal everything he knew.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: As you can possibly guess from the timeline being covered in this story, some speech and events in this chapter are from the Season 2 episode of White Collar, Forging Bonds.

 

Neal observed as Mozzie traded favours or called in other favours to get information about Alder's businesses.

"You really want to pull a long con on this guy?" Neal questioned as he helped Mozzie put together Alder's dossier. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Of course. Now, have you figured out your approach?"

Neal hummed to keep from having to admit that he had no more of an idea than he had the previous day.

"I can tell you how much he brought in," Neal muttered. That had been Mozzie's question the previous day, when they had been spying on Adler himself. Mozzie had responded to Neal's 'I don't know' with, ' _never say that. Know everything.'_

Mozzie huffed. "Of course you can! Now put that information to use. Figure out an approach."

"Is that my homework?" Neal quipped. Mozzie's training was reminding him of another mentor who insisted Neal do his best; plan and know everything about his targets and more.

"No. Your homework is to create more bonds. We will need the money if you even want a chance to impress Alder," Mozzie reminded him.

"Right. Charity dinner," Neal sighed. It was for the Antiquities Recovery Project and cost five grand to even get in the door. Neal had thought he was done with charity dinners when he left his family. But it was beginning to seem like the life of a conman involved them as well.

"Are you going to be able to handle it?" Mozzie questioned. "It's a higher class affair than you're used to."

"How do you know that?" Neal questioned.

Mozzie looked him up and down, taking in his plain button up shirt and beige slacks.

"I just do. We'll do a crash course in fine dining before Friday."

Neal gave Mozzie a half smile in response. He knew exactly how to behave but, he guessed he should mix up some of the forks and spoons if he didn't want to give hints away to the company he used to keep.

* * *

Mozzie watched Neal put together a couple more forged bonds. Neal prepped the paper, mixed the dye, put it all together and even added the security strip. When he was finished, there were only a few people would be able to tell it was a forgery on sight.

Mozzie took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"What?" Neal questioned as he examined his forgeries. "Did I miss something?"

" _Au contraire_!" Mozzie buzzed. "You just created a whole forgery yourself!"

"Uh, yes? Is that not how forgery is done?"

Mozzie flailed his hands. "No! Most forgers specialise in one or two areas. Mixing dyes, copying images and print or making security strips-"

"What about those who forge IDs?" Neal interrupted.

"They specialise in IDs! They wouldn't be able to make a bond forgery of this calibre!"

"Okay..." Neal looked at his bonds. He thought most forgers worked alone. "Doesn't it raise the risk when you have more people? One per job isn't very efficient."

Mozzie jumped out of his seat. "Exactly! But they don't realise that. I'm curious as to how you learnt."

Neal shrugged, hoping his nervousness didn't flow through. He attempted to project an air of 'I don't want to talk about it'. Mozzie seemed to catch it because he didn't question Neal's response of, 'I just figured it out'. It was partially true. Neal had been taught how to catch forgeries. Learning the process of forging to be better at figuring out where and how a forgery was made was still learning the forging process, even if Neal had been on the side of catching forgers at the time.

* * *

Neal smiled at the teller as she handed him the money and he started towards the exit. With this, he would be able to get close to Adler. There was still no sign that anyone had caught on either. The teller hadn't given the bonds a second look.

Neal laughed with Mozzie at getting a green lollipop from her as they started down the street.

"This guy's a forger. He's good." The words floated into range and gave Neal pause a moment before Mozzie did the same.

Neal pretended to be surprised as Mozzie pulled him away from the couple talking. "What?"

Mozzie hushed him. "Brooks Brothers suit. That means Fed. Talking to the bank manager. We gotta go."

Neal glanced back. He could see the man Mozzie was talking about. He was also holding one of Neal's bonds.

So the FBI had caught on? Neal wondered how much they knew.

"Never met a Fed before," Neal commented, shaking Mozzie off as he walked over to the man. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Mozzie duck out of sight. His partner was free to stay in the shadows if he wanted however Neal was certain he could get more information from the Fed than the Fed could get from him in this interaction.

He put on a pleasant smile and greeted the Fed. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear. Are you with the FBI?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke." Neal smiled wider. A name. His gamble was already paying off. They exchanged a couple of sentences about the bonds and Neal handed his green sucker off to the agent with a smile and his thanks before walking away.

* * *

Neal rolled his eyes at Mozzie's antics. He was saying something about Peter being able to set up a perimeter within minutes. Unlikely. Neal already knew reaction times of law enforcement were around 10 minutes in New York. Plus, he was a non-violent forger. They certainly wouldn't bring out the big guns unless he proved himself to be slippery or dangerous in some way.

"It was worth it," Neal pointed out. "We know know two things. We have to move off bonds," Neal had been looking into foreign money right now anyway and trying to decide between forging British pounds or the Australian dollar. "And his name is Peter Burke." He knew he could do a lot with a name. Neal wondered how much Mozzie could learn. "Know thine enemy, right?" A quote could placate Mozzie's frustration with him right now and make the other man see his point.

"Fine," Mozzie huffed.

* * *

Mozzie asked Neal for a name to use during this con. Seeing a flyer for Halden Legal Services, Neal decided on Nick Halden. Then the short guy pulled out a suit from the dry-cleaners.

Neal couldn't help it, he blanched at the sight. He had thought he had left suits behind when he left.

"I'm not really a suit guy," he said, trying to change Mozzie's mind.

Mozzie dismissed his concerns. Neal's eyes slid right off the fabric. Every time he looked at it, he was reminded of his past. Of donning suits, having someone straighten his tie until he learnt to do it himself and mixing with the rich and influential.

Sometimes it felt like he had never really left. As if this was an undercover mission someone asked him to do and he could just pick up the phone and call them to report in.

Then he had to remind himself that none of them would want to hear from him. He was Neal Caffrey, a forger and conman in New York who didn't have a family.

* * *

The suit itched as it hadn't been fitted to Neal's frame. He didn't want to mention it to Mozzie since that would reveal more knowledge that he wouldn't be able to explain. Besides, Neal was supposed to be a conman and he should be able to make even an ill-fitting suit work.

He already knew that Alder tended to hire a lot of younger staff. He took on inexperienced people for positions others would consider them too young for. A lot of magazines praised him on it, describing his actions as picking out the best talent regardless of age and experience. They praised him for being able to pick out real talent.

Neal wondered what this man would see when he looked at him. A conman trying to get close or a young, inexperienced kid who was smart and ready to apply himself to work?

He couldn't tell. He handed over the wine Mozzie had filled and introduced himself. He congratulated Alder on his past successes and put his two cents in for the future. He tried to sound interested, although business always bored him. But Alder still walked off. Perhaps Neal had not made a strong impression?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: White Collar fans might notice the slight deviations from the show beginning to appear. Also, I forgot to mention that the past few chapters (and this one and the next) contain season 2 spoilers for White Collar. If you've seen Season 2, then you may have a slight idea what's going to happen next. Next chapter covers what happens at the end of the Adler con.

 

It wasn't difficult to spot Adler's assistant. She was standing next to him. The man even introduced her to him before walking off again. Neal felt a little like he was being tested.

Kate Moreau smiled genuinely and turned back to the painting.

'St George and the Dragon', a fairly well-known painting.

"Do you like it?" he asked her to start a conversation.

They spoke about painting a bit. She told him about attempting the starving artist thing and Neal commented that there were no 'Nick Halden' pieces downtown.

"You're here to cosy up to my boss."

Neal grinned. This woman was smart. It was attractive. But, alas, he had to consider it not to be. This was supposed to be a con after all.

"Yeah. If I worked for Adler, I can go anywhere. Any advice?"

Kate mentioned that he wasn't seated anywhere near Adler and that would be his first challenge.

That wasn't difficult. The only miscalculation Neal made was moving Adler's date away, instantly giving away that someone had messed with the seating placements and giving Adler an incentive to leave.

However, Neal figured he could spin that in his favour. After all, Adler now had a taste of what he could do. He reeled Adler in with the information he and Mozzie had gained after staking out the owner of a firm Adler was looking to acquire. A firm which was about to be sold out from under the owner's feet before Adler could get his hands on it.

"Look into it," Neal said as Adler moved to leave. "If it turns out I'm right call me."

Of course Neal was right. He was working for Adler a month later.

* * *

They were two months into the five month con and Neal had made the job his life. Mozzie was thrilled and happy about Neal's information which actually made Neal feel more like a corporate spy than a conman.

Adler was an alright guy. Something about him made Neal's hackles raise but he wasn't quite certain what it was. Mozzie thought that Neal was just reacting to his target, feeling something for the man they were going to con. Neal knew it was something more. Adler was nice. He personally taught Neal about how he ran things and gave Neal run of his office when needed. He had a strange obsession with fractals which made him seem a little eccentric. He let his employees invest in his firm, as much as they wanted. Eager to prove himself and under Mozzie's advisement, Neal invested all of his pay. Neal thought that might give Adler a red flag as to his real intentions but Mozzie gave good advice and if he didn't see an issue with it, Neal wasn't going to push the subject.

* * *

Peter Burke was a problem. Neal knew the man hadn't connected him to Nick Halden but that was because Adler kept Nick's name and face out of the press, just like himself and all his high-level employees.

However, Neal had been forced to abandon his British pounds a few weeks into cashing them in. The FBI had caught onto them and Peter Burke had caught his scent. A nondescript van did a few laps of the area before pulling up down the street from Neal's apartment.

"Seems they've found us," Mozzie commented. Neal shot him a little glare as this was his apartment.

"We should leave," Neal suggested.

"I have a place we can hang out at until you can get a new apartment. Grab your go bag."

Neal sighed and walked over to the bed, lifting a floorboard right next to it. He pulled out a bag filled with cash notes and a couple of passports and IDs for his aliases. Being uprooted forcefully didn't sit well with him.

The apartment was sold and Neal followed Mozzie to the run-down building where he would be spending the next few days. It wasn't difficult to stay out of sight of the FBI van as they left.

* * *

It was after work and Neal was laying on the ground, looking up at the wooden roof. Beside him was Mozzie's zen garden, a place for contemplation. Neal probably needed a little more of that in his life.

He realised that months ago, he would never have forged money. Sure, it wasn't US money but he still created fake money and tossed it out into the world.

Part of him was grateful to Peter for figuring it out. It gave him a reason to stop and look at what he was doing.

Neal was getting close to a man who ran a powerful company in the hopes of stealing money from the man's Cayman Island account. What would happen to all his coworkers if he succeeded?

* * *

What would happen to him? Neal held no doubts that Adler would point the finger at him. And what would Neal do with all that money?

On the other hand, he was already committed to this. Mozzie was a good guy who waxed lyrical about his dream to own his own island. Mozzie worked hard, although not always legally, towards that dream. He offered a hand of friendship to Neal and Neal didn't want to let him down.

* * *

"Hey Moz," Neal sighed as Mozzie came in with dinner that evening.

"Oh no," Mozzie groaned once he got a good look at Neal. "Don't tell me you're rethinking branching out to painting theft? I'm telling you, you can do it. You have the skills."

Neal recalled the times he had raced Mozzie to be the first to unlock a lock. Mozzie knew well enough by now that there were few locks around that Neal couldn't crack.

"That's not it." Neal took a steeling breath. "I'm rethinking the Adler con."

"Neal!"

Neal held up his hands to get a chance to explain. "Come on, Moz. These are nice people we're taking from."

"Adler has the skills to reforge his empire before it crumbles."

"And if he doesn't?"

"Neal. You know as well as I do that Adler built his company from the ground up. It's a stable investment firm. I'm sure he can handle losing a bit of his private funds without it affecting the company."

Neal sighed. It still felt a little like taking away Adler's hard work. A small voice in his head reminded him that he too was working hard. He was attempting to con a rich man in a city on the lookout for him and that wasn't simple.

"Adler would not hesitate to ruin you if he had the slightest idea why you were there," Mozzie pointed out.

"You're overreacting Moz."

"Am I?"

Neal had no response to that. He wondered if Mozzie also felt there was something off about Adler or Adler's company. Even over halfway into this con, Neal had no idea what was setting off alarm bells in his head.

"He's not your friend or your boss, Neal. He only knows Nick Halden. He's a target."

Neal wondered whether that mattered. After all, Neal wasn't real either.

With that thought, a dark pit in his stomach began to feel like it was clawing around inside him. Neal felt a little weak as he recalled a life before Neal.

"I guess you're right," he said. He grabbed the food he ordered and made his way into the hammock that Mozzie had put out for him.

Neal considered dipping into his emergency running funds to get a new apartment with a proper bed rather than this hammock. He thought about his situation again.

Mozzie had a point. Adler might not hesitate to hand Neal over the FBI if he knew who he was. It would probably be better to get the money and get out of here.

And Neal thought he would be able to stay this time.

* * *

Mozzie cornered Neal before he left for work the next day. The little guy held up a calendar and pinned it to the wall.

"I got you a countdown calendar. There are two months left of this con." Mozzie pulled out a pen and crossed off the previous day. "I know you're not the most thrilled about this long con. I will admit, long cons are difficult. They are challenging because you get to know the targets. You feel for them and they, you. But, just get through the next two weeks and then we'll go wherever you wish."

Neal grinned a warm feeling sitting heavy in his chest. This was a nice thing Moz had done for him. One of the nicest things he could recall.

"Thanks, Moz."

For Mozzie, Neal was going to finish this con.


	6. Chapter 6

Adler approached Neal about a breach in security. They had an unidentified woman come in an access a company computer. She copied over some files and, while she talked her way in somehow, she left without interacting with anyone.

Adler was furious. Neal took in the tense muscles under his suit and in his neck. There was a hardness in the man's eyes that made Neal think that he hadn't seen every side of his new employer. He thought he had already seen an angry Adler back when they first met and Neal had frustrated the man by moving his date to another table.

That was nothing compared to the hardness he saw now.

It worried him. However, his job was to find her. She had broken the law and Neal decided he would be there to make sure Adler didn't take anything into his own hands.

Alex Hunter was her name. Neal had Mozzie ID her from a grainy picture. They made a couple of inquiries and found out how to contact her.

Neal fed her a story about a job interview. It was the easiest way to get her and Alder in one room. With himself there as well.

It went as well as it could. While they started off all smiles and pleasant greetings, Neal had to hold himself back from interfering as Adler stood up and leaned into Alex's face with a hard frown etched into his face.

"You accessed my private database. You made copies of my records. I should bring charges," he growled. Then he sat back down and said something about second chances.

Neal tried to shake off the chill but found he couldn't. What had Mozzie gotten him into?

Alex offered to buy him a drink. Neal couldn't think of a reason why not. She seemed interested in him and it had been a while since Neal had been out on a date.

They had a good time and it didn't end at dinner. It didn't end until sometime the next morning.

Alex laughed in the morning, rolled up in the sheets as she told him that she knew his name wasn't 'Nick Halden'.

"She made me," Neal told Mozzie later that day in an impressed tone.

Mozzie hummed his acknowledgement. They had known that to be a risk when they reached out to her. Alex had a reputation for a reason.

"She also told me about what she was after."

Mozzie looked over at him with wide eyes. Neal wondered if he hadn't expected him to get the information from her. While Neal hadn't been trying, he wasn't going to ignore the opportunity.

"She said it was a music box. I have no idea what's so special about it beyond it being worth a lot of money."

"Money is good," Mozzie pointed out. "But we shouldn't get distracted. We're after Adler, not some music box."

"It might be time to consider ending this con," Neal mused. Mozzie voiced his agreement between bites of Chinese take-away food.

"Remember the Suit? He's been asking around about you." Mozzie frowned into the take-away box and dug around with his chopsticks. "I hear he has a sketch."

"Where'd he get a sketch?" Neal questioned with a frown.

Mozzie swallowed his mouthful of noodles and shrugged. "They always have a sketch or a print or something."

Kate left, leaving Adler without a secretary. It was the perfect opportunity for Neal. He slipped into the space she left and started helping Adler with some of the finances.

Something didn't add up however, he was focused on getting the password for the accounts. He did puzzle over it in his spare time but it was difficult to tell what didn't add up. Promised returns were being handed out, although a lot of people invested once again with Adler as he did a good job.

It was while puzzling over this that Adler called him into his office. Adler had brought in Nelson, his suit guy. Neal stood around for the fitting, feeling very awkward.

"It's a $10,000 suit," he pointed out to Alder once Nelson had finished adjusting it. Neal had to admit, a fitted suit was much more comfortable. It kind of reminded him of when he was a kid and often had his suits adjusted and re-adjusted to his growing frame.

They didn't cost ten thousand dollars though, no matter what the world thought of his guardian's spending habits.

"You can and you will," Adler insisted.

Neal sighed and accepted the suit. While Alder was arranging payment with Nelson, Neal noticed a newspaper on the desk. It was his face staring back at him from the middle of the page. Mozzie was right about the FBI having a sketch.

It was now or never. Neal spun a story about blips in the account security, asking for the password so he could check things out.

Adler gave it to him.

"I trust you, Neal."

Neal held the dollar note in his hands. This couldn't be right.

Neal had never thought holding a dollar in his hands could make his stomach feel like lead and his body shudder in revulsion. All that work, getting close to Adler and convincing him to and over the password, wasted.

Adler knew. There had only been a dollar in the account. The password had been ancientlyre, an anagram for 'Nice try Neal'. The words made him shiver and feel relief at the same time. At least it wasn't his birth name.

Mozzie was frustrated by the failure. He ranted and raved, wondering how Adler could possibly have made them. Then he turned to Neal.

"Didn't you say that something felt off? When did that start?"

"I don't know. The whole time," Neal said. "But when I looked into the accounting, everyone was getting their money and the firm was making money-" There. A small change in Mozzie's microexpression. "What?"

"Adler dealt in shares, right?"

"Yeah," Neal hummed, wondering what Mozzie was thinking.

"Come on, we're going to the office," Mozzie said, grabbing a janitor's uniform on his way out. "You can keep wearing that suit."

Because a man in a suit and a janitor wouldn't attract any attention, Neal thought sarcastically.

Neal leaned against the wall as Mozzie accessed the computers using Neal's codes. His justification was that Adler already knew about Neal's 'trustworthiness' so they had nothing to lose.

"Anything?"

"I'm not finding any money in the accounts anymore," Mozzie commented. "And everything is a little strange. When was the last time Adler fired someone?"

"I don't know. Not while I've been here," Neal responded.

"Who invests with him?"

Everyone, Neal thought as things started clicking into place. "You think Adler's up to something, do you?"

"Vincent Adler is probably crooked, yes," Mozzie confirmed. "I found the list of investors and ran it against the list of employees."

"How?" That was literally hundreds of client ID numbers and employee ID numbers to match up.

Mozzie pointed to his head. He had mentioned before that his memory was perfect but Neal hadn't seen it in action before. "This would be easier with a highlighter and printout though. Oh, and as far as I can tell, he's never traded any shares for client accounts."

Neal froze. "What?" A terrible chill went down his back. Suddenly the odd vibe he had been getting from Adler was coming into focus. "You can't possibly be suggesting that this company is something like a giant ponzi scheme."

Mozzie looked pleased as he confirmed Neal's thoughts. "Exactly. I'm surprised he managed to keep it going so long. Do you know how much money Adler's going to make off this?"

"No." He could estimate though and it was huge. "And I'd rather not think about it. How do we stop it?"

"We just need to find him," Mozzie said with a grin. "And maybe get a share in the profits."

Neal didn't know about that second bit but the first sounded doable.

"Vincent Adler has disappeared. And with him, hundreds of millions of dollars of his clients' money. A preliminary investigation indicates his investment firm may have been built on a giant house of cards..."

Neal groaned and flicked the TV off before resting his head in his arms.

'Nice try Neal,' indeed. He tried and failed to stop Adler.

"Can't win them all," Mozzie sighed.

They had searched for Adler all night. Neal tried calling the man on his personal and business lines. Mozzie hit up the community for information about where Vincent Adler might be, but they learnt nothing.

Adler was a ghost.

"We're broke," Neal pointed out to Mozzie. They had invested with Adler as well and had nothing left. "No jobs, no money."

Except for Neal's savings accounts which weren't going to be touched unless they needed to flee from certain superheroes.

"We'll figure something out," Mozzie commented with a shrug.


	7. Chapter 7

Failure hurt. Whenever someone else was impacted, Neal couldn't help feeling blame as well. He had dragged Mozzie down with him when Adler had made him. He lost their money trying to get Adler to trust him.

He had been a fool.

Neal didn't think twice before offering to use his hidden funds to get him and Mozzie out of New York.

"No, not yet," Mozzie said. The FBI was scrambling to track Adler down. With a Ponzi schemer on the loose, a bond forger like Neal was not high priority. Mozzie believed they could still make a little money out of this mess.

* * *

Neal adjusted the police cap on his head and waited for his cue. They had 'borrowed' a police car by posing as car cleaners and scored a uniform from a police locker.

Neal didn't tell Mozzie that he was familiar with the way police officers acted because he used to be one. He just played the role and let Mozzie make his own assumptions.

"Stop! Someone stop that guy!"

Neal perked up and pushed off the car. Sounds like Mozzie was coming. He pulled out the unloaded gun and pointed it at Mozzie.

"Freeze!"

Mozzie skid to a halt and held up his hands. One with the package in it. Behind him, a courier in an olive green shirt came up.

Neal was quick to take the package and handcuff Mozzie.

"Ah, Smedley, good to see you again," he taunted as the courier walked over. He smiled at the courier. "Sir, I will get you a receipt for this once I put this guy in the back." Neal shoved Mozzie in the back seat, the package next to him and started writing the 'receipt'.

"You can't take that," the courier said. "It's a sixteenth century manuscript, worth a fortune."

"We'll look after it," Neal insisted. "Just come to the 23rd precinct in a couple of days to pick it up."

"Days?"

Neal shrugged in a 'what can you do' manner at the courier's shock.

* * *

Back at the small apartment they were staying in, Neal pulled off Mozzie's toupee.

"Why do you keep wearing these?" Neal questioned.

Mozzie frowned at him. "We can't all be blue-eyes, Neal."

"You look better without them," Neal pointed out, tossing the toupee away. "Wise and distinguished." Mozzie blushed a little. "Hale gets a cut of this con, doesn't he?"

"A full third. After all, he's selling it for us."

Neal hummed and opened a bottle of wine. He didn't know how he felt about that. Mozzie held out his glass for a refill.

"Oh, and your friend Alex is back in town. She's after you for some job." Mozzie raised an eyebrow and pulled out an origami flower.

Neal took it in surprise. Sure, he and Alex had spoken about how she would contact him if she got a lead to the music box she was searching for but, he didn't think she would ever do it.

"I do owe her for getting her busted," Neal thoughtfully said. "So Moz, up for another con soon?"

"What is it?"

"Alex wants us to steal the music box."

"The music box?" Mozzie questioned sceptically. "I didn't think we'd hear from her about that. Where is it?"

"Guess we'll have to go and find out," Neal commented, seeing that Alex wrote a time and place into the flower.

* * *

It turned out that the box was in Copenhagen. In Amalienborg Palace. The royal family still lived there, which meant security was tight.

Alex told them that it was a three person job, minimum. It was tough and whatever could do wrong, did.

Mozzie was held up and couldn't get to his place in time. Neal set off alarms he hadn't been told about and Alex made a daring escape only to injure herself and order Neal to keep running. Alex had people who were willing to get her out of any trouble incurred because of this but Neal and Mozzie didn't.

Neal was almost arrested. Mozzie turned up just in the nick of time to help him escape.

Mozzie was rather amused to hear that everyone assumed they had gotten away with the music box. Neal smiled and silently agreed. The extra fame certainly helped him make a small name for himself.

* * *

Neal had gone out to get supplies so they could forge a way out of the country. He returned to hear Mozzie discussing something with someone.

"I assure you, I can arrange the money to pay you more than whomever sent you after me." Mozzie's voice was tight.

The responding voice sent a chill down Neal's back.

"I have no interest in whatever you have to offer."

It was deep and the voice of someone who expected theirs to be the last word. Neal grabbed a chair and held it in one had as he crept towards the room Mozzie was in, mentally planning the next few moments. They were in the third floor of an abandoned building. While Neal knew he could escape out the window, Mozzie would need time to escape.

Neal quickened his step through the doorway and chucked the chair at the orange and black figure.

"Mozzie, run!" he ordered his friend.

Mozzie ran right towards him and Neal made sure he was in front of the little guy as Deathstroke went for the kill. Neal blocked the blade with the knife he had slipped out of his boot. He still carried it around because knives could be useful for more things than just hurting people.

Neal deflected Deathstroke's blade and paused for a moment. There should have been no way that worked. The knife could deflect but Deathstroke could easily overpower him.

There was a moment of stillness as Neal and Deathstroke stared at each other. Mozzie stayed behind Neal, unable to leave him alone but also not willing to step out from behind his friend.

"Neal Caffrey. I have been hired to deal with your little accomplice," Deathstroke said.

Neal wasn't going to let Deathstroke hurt Mozzie. Mozzie was the only person Neal could be himself around. The only person who hung around when Neal messed up.

"You can't. You'll have to go through me first," Neal said, glaring up at his opponent.

"Neal," Mozzie said quietly in shock. Neal wondered for a moment if anyone had ever stood up for his friend before.

After the moment passed, Deathstroke sheathed his weapon. "You're lucky I'm fond of you, kid. Get out of the country and I should be able to convince the person who hired me to let it go."

"What?"

"Why would you do that?" Mozzie questioned.

Deathstoke gripped Neal's shoulder and Neal felt a trill under his skin as he recalled nights in under the moonlight and flying through the air.

"Slade?" he questioned.

Deathstroke grinned under the full-face mask. They could hear the pleased tone in his voice. "Knew it was you, kid."

"Don't tell them, okay?"

"Sure. I don't want the entire hero community coming after me because I know where you are," Deathstroke huffed before leaving.

Mozzie gave Neal a wide-eyed look of wonder.

"What just happened?" he questioned. "How do you know a dangerous assassin?"

"Mercenary," Neal corrected. He was eyeing the window Deathstoke had left out of, just in case there was a change of mind or someone else out there. "He does it for the money."

"How do you know the mercenary, Neal?"

Neal wondered how best to explain it. "I knew him in another life. Used to work with his son and trained his daughter."

He could tell Mozzie was curious but they still needed to get out of there before law enforcers turned up.


	8. Chapter 8

After Deathstroke, Neal spent months looking over his shoulder. He expected someone else to appear now that he had been found. When no one appeared, it was either because Deathstroke kept the secret like he said he would or he had told and no one cared.

Why would they care about a criminal who wasn't even a good criminal? Neal had failed to get Adler, failed to get the music box and his friend-slash-accomplice almost got killed by a mercenary.

It was why Neal felt the need to do something well. He and Mozzie discussed plan after plan. The best idea was inspired by Neal's first crime.

Art theft and forgery. Paint a forgery and steal a picture. It was simple and needed a bit of dazzle but it was a good starting point.

Neal and Mozzie spent a few nights with wine while they tried to figure out exactly what kind of dazzle they wanted to add.

"Multiple forgeries?" Neal suggested with a sigh at around three in the morning.

Mozzie gave a thoughtful hum and took another sip of his wine. "What would we use these forgeries for? We only need to replace the painting with one."

Neal reminded Mozzie about how someone had been willing to buy the fake, convinced it was the real painting.

"Are you suggesting stealing a painting and selling forgeries of said painting?" Mozzie commented. "We'll have the painting. Why sell the forgeries?"

Neal thought about it for a moment. "We sell the forgeries, which is like selling the painting over and over."

"Increasing the profit," Mozzie mused. "I actually like that idea. We shouldn't do it to more than one painting though. I've worked hard to build up a trustworthy reputation so we can't always be peddling numerous fakes."

* * *

Neal spent a week making forgeries they could sell. The magic wasn't in the planning but in the painting they planned to take. 'The Scream' by Edvard Munch had been stolen a couple of times and Neal looked forward to adding another chapter to the painting's history of being taken. His theft wouldn't be as classy as the " _Thanks for the poor security_ " note left the time it was taken in 1994 but what would come after would make up for that.

"For the last time, we're not leaving a note!" Mozzie huffed whenever Neal brought it up.

Mozzie's comments made Neal think about what kind of message they could send which would allow people to at least know about the theft. Neal had a lot of time to think about it while painting the almost perfect forgeries.

* * *

Mozzie was in charge of stealing the painting. It was a simple slash-and-grab. Neal conned his way into the security room as Jean Gibson. 'Conveniently', the other guard assigned to the room with Jean needed to leave the moment before the cameras failed. It meant there was no visible footage of the person who cut the painting out of it frame.

The next step was to sell the story to the painting. Jean's security job allowed him to be an 'inside source' as he reported the story to the news. The news reported to the people. The people, or at least a couple across the country and overseas with very loose morals, lined up for a chance to own the stolen painting.

It went perfectly.

* * *

Neal hummed to himself as he looked through the aisles of the bottle shop. Mozzie slipped up beside him wearing a brown toupee.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Really Moz?"

"They're after us, Neal," Mozzie said, patting his fake hair.

"I noticed." The champagne he was looking at wasn't really the right colour. As fun as it would be to send a pink champagne, he needed something they would be willing to at least try.

"Really?" Mozzie said in a tone that implied he didn't believe Neal.

"The dark blue utility van which parked up the corner. They put up cones and a couple of agents are door knocking in the area under the guise of giving information about charities."

"Oh," Mozzie said. He hadn't noticed the charity part. "Which charity?"

"More than one, Moz and the usual charities. So far they've tried to convince people to give blood, contact local organisation to donate money to help cure cancer and something about the local hospital's children's ward needing a little cash boost."

Mozzie's eyes narrowed.

"And how much of a cash boost is the children's ward getting?"

Neal hummed. It amazed him how well Mozzie could see through him sometimes. "About half the value of one copy of Edvard Munch's 'The Scream'."

"And the other half? I guess that's going to cure cancer?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Moz. It'll be years and more money than half a painting before they create a cure which is marketable and safe," Neal responded. "But the money will be going towards that goal."

Mozzie groaned and rolled his eyes. Neal knew the little guy vocally didn't approve of Neal's softhearted approach to spending money but Neal also knew that Mozzie regularly sent money to an orphanage in Detroit. Not to mention the way he made sure the kids on the street didn't have to scavenge for food by paying them to run errands for him.

Mozzie had a soft spot for kids.

Neal pulled off a bottle of blue champagne and held it up for his friend to see. "What do you think? The van might like this one."

Mozzie's eyes widened as he realised what Neal was doing in this store.

"You. Are. Insane. Are you still playing with the Feds?"

"It's fun," Neal declared. And it was distracting from all the crime and heroes fighting it. "Should I get the blue? I know it's not the right colour but, I'm sure Burke will appreciate the effort."

Mozzie took a deep breath before responding. "Do whatever. I'll see you at the safehouse. Or your trial."

"Don't be such a pessimist, Moz." Neal laughed.

The only sad part was that Neal couldn't see Agent Burke's face when the champagne turned up at the van. Neal hired someone to place the bottle on his abandoned doorstep and paid another to grab the wine from there and take it to the van outside for cash money. That way he didn't have to return to the apartment and could be hiding away in one of Mozzie's safe houses while the FBI enjoyed their consolation prize.

"I can't believe you're going out of your way to antagonise the FBI."

Neal grinned at his friend. He knew Mozzie didn't mind as long as he didn't get caught up in it. "It's fun." It was distracting.

* * *

Neal created Steve. Steve Tabernackle. It was Mozzie's suggestion that he go with the 'International Playboy' persona. It allowed him to trick those with money and bad attitudes into 'investing' money with him.

Steve always checked the guest lists though. There was only room for one international playboy at his parties; him. No competition in Bruce Wayne or inclusion of downers like Lex Luthor at his parties. People laughed the comparisons off, which was the idea. It was a joke so that no one else would look closer at the way Steve avoided those two and a short list of other upper-class people.

Then came Gary Rydell. Gary was not as good a guy as Steve but he alright. He enjoyed fencing and getting things where they needed to go. Objects only. Gary had no qualms about sending the police after anyone who treated humans like objects.

Gary took a jewelry necklace from Spain to the US one time and ended up having to jump out a window before he even left Spain. There was a roof right by the window which he ran across. He leapt across a small gap between that roof and another. He slid down the tiles and jumped into a tree. Once he made it the ground, he could walk more normally. The _Policia_ wouldn't catch him now.

Gary had to retire for a while after that. It was Mozzie's advice and the news that the FBI had been called about Neal's actions in Spain.


	9. Chapter 9

"N-Nick!"

Neal turned on his heel, automatically reacting to the name and the voice. It was the voice of someone he hadn't expected to see again.

"Kate?"

She was smiling but panting from her short run to catch up to him. The people on the sidewalk hadn't made it easy for her to get by and Neal winced whenever she got too close to an elbow to shoulder.

But she reached him. Her dark hair was pulled over her shoulder so that it was flowing down her chest. She was wearing a blue dress and hoop earring. Behind her was a man in a suit who shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"That's Michael, isn't it?" Neal commented. "Why is he nervous?"

Kate laughed. "Oh, he doesn't approve of me talking to you. I think it's because we used to work together."

Neal laughed in turn. "Is he afraid I'll steal you away?" he questioned jokingly. "He doesn't have to worry about that. I keep my hands off taken women."

"I'll let him know, although that wouldn't stop him from worrying."

The work comment reminded Neal of who they had worked for and what had happened.

"Hey, after Adler... were you two alright?"

Kate's smile faded a little as she recalled. "It was tough for a while there. We almost lost everything. I consider myself lucky that Michael found a new job before Adler ran."

Neal was relieved she hadn't been hit as badly as some of the people working for Alder.

"What about you?" Kate asked. "Were you still working for him when everything went down?"

Neal sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. I lost everything." No point in lying. "But I had a friend willing to help me out." Neal looked around to find that Mozzie had vanished. His phone beeped. "Excuse me a moment."

There was a message from Mozzie, telling him to stop talking to the girl and get out of there.

"Nick?" Kate questioned.

Neal turned to her and smiled. "It's nothing. I should probably go."

"That's quick," Michael commented, having walked up while Neal had been checking his phone. "Is it important?"

"Uh, something like that. He's not really the most clearest of messengers." Neal was starting to get a strange vibe from these two. It felt like they were planning something. Kate was better at hiding whatever it was but Neal wasn't thinking of hanging around to find out what it was.

"Maybe we can hang out during our stay here," Kate commented. "I mean, we'll only be here for a few days. You can show us the sites."

"You really want to do the tourist thing?" Neal questioned.

"We're supposed to be," Michael said with a sigh. Neal was about to question what he meant when a car pulled up and a familiar figure got out.

"FBI! Hands on your head!" Peter Burke said as his agents seemed to appear from the crowd around them to point their guns at Neal.

"Agent Burke," Neal commented in dull shock. He was trying to figure out how the agent had found him. A glance at the female agent moving Michael and Kate away gave him his answer. "They told you I was here, didn't they?"

"They recognised your picture from the paper," Agent Burke confirmed. "Now, you're under arrest."

Neal held out a hand.

"Well, congratulations, Agent Burke. Never thought those posters you put everywhere would do anything," Neal commented. He could run but, there was no point. He had been caught. The game was over.

Agent Burke stared at his hand for a few moments before shaking it. "Neither did I, honestly. But she apparently worked with you for a while and so, she knew what you looked like."

Neal sighed. The job which started his con man career with Mozzie would be his downfall. It had been a disaster of a job.

Agent Burke cuffed his hands and Neal let himself be taken away. It was time to move onto a new game.

* * *

A trial later and Neal had been placed in prison. For the next four years.

* * *

Neal's lawyer was a familiar little man in a tweet jacket and who carried a briefcase. His frown could be one of the overworked and tired lawyer however, Neal recognised it as the one for the annoyed best friend.

"You let the Suit arrest you," Mozzie grumbled. "If you had left the moment I texted you to-"

"Moz," Neal interrupted. "It was time. They caught me, fair and square. Running would only give them a reason to shoot me and no one wanted that."

"You're non-violent."

"A fleeing suspect is a fleeing suspect."

Mozzie made a frustrated clicking noise as he sat down.

"Stupid Feds. Had they shot you, I would have made their lives miserable."

"I don't doubt it," Neal responded. It was a warming thought. He was still surprised that Mozzie had visited him in prison. "Which means you might not like my next suggestion."

"Breaking you out? I'm all for it."

Neal sighed and shook his head. "I want to make the deal with the FBI. Or with Peter Burke to be exact."

Mozzie was silent for a moment. "What kind of deal?"

While Neal thought he would probably get through the next few years easily, he didn't want to when there were other options.

"There's some case law and precedent," Neal commented before explaining. "They could let me out on a tracking anklet or something I work off my sentence."

There was silence as Mozzie thought about that proposition. "How do you know the FBI will even consider this deal?"

Neal shrugged. "It can't hurt to try."

"It could," Mozzie huffed. "We are talking about the Feds after all. What's the chance that you'll get through this intact?"

Neal thought about jumping across rooftops, running streets and fighting those who wanted to hurt others. Thoughts about fallen bodies, excuses and nights alone followed, as they often did. "Does it matter?"

"I would like to go on record saying that this is a bad idea," Mozzie reluctantly said as he pulled out paper and pens. "Alright, let's talk about the contract I'm going to offer the Suit."

* * *

After Mozzie's next visit, when he brought the contract for Neal to look over, Neal spent three months sitting in prison. He kept himself busy drawing, reading whatever books he could get and doing favours to keep himself well liked and safe.

Three months worth of tally marks were drawn on the wall when Bobby, the guard, came to get him.

"Caffrey, you got a visitor!"

Surprisingly enough, it was Peter. Neal had been expecting Mozzie.

"Hi, Agent Burke."

"Sit down."

Neal sat, interested in why the agent was here.

"You want to help me catch criminals?" Peter questioned in a sceptical tone.

Neal shrugged and motioned around them. "It's certainly more interesting than sitting around here."

"I agree. But, there are two issues here. My bosses are confused as to why a criminal we caught wants to help. And I know you, Neal. You're going to run as soon as you can."

Neal rolled his eyes. Like he couldn't already escape from this prison.

"I'm not the first criminal to want to help the FBI. Besides, I think it'd be interesting."

"That's the kind of thinking that worries my bosses. No one wants to risk you learning even more about FBI process."

Neal's shoulders slumped. He guessed it was worth a try but, rejection hurt. He didn't think he could muster up the energy to fight the FBI decision. While he was lost imagining the next fours years, Peter had brought out a document.

"The changed contract."

"What?"

"We've added some clauses of our own. You're free to read over it during your free time."

Neal stared at the contract. "You're accepting?" Somehow, even though he had proposed the idea, he was shocked. Peter actually wanted him?

"You're smart. I like smart." Neal grinned at that. "Don't get too full of yourself. My wife convinced me to trial this."

"Your wife?"

"Smartest person I know. Point is, you're not the slipperiest character the FBI has employed. It might even be interesting to work with you."


	10. Chapter 10

Neal looked around the dirty motel.

"Do I have to stay here?" he asked Peter. Neal was used to spending a few nights in uncomfortable shelters but, those were short stays and not places he would be staying for the foreseeable future. Between comfort and broken down, he would pick comfort.

"Cowboy up," Peter responded. "It cost $700 to house you on the inside so that's what it costs. For the money, this is as good as it gets."

Neal crinkled his nose. Surely Peter would be able to get a deal somewhere a little cleaner. Peter rolled his eyes.

"If you find something better, take it."

It was better than nothing. Neal nodded at that. If Peter wouldn't find a deal, he would.

"What about clothes?" He was wearing a black turtleneck shirt and black pants. It was all he currently owned.

"There's a thrift store within your radius," Peter pointed out, pointing at Neal's ankle as if to remind him that he couldn't just go wherever he wanted. Like Neal could forget the weight curled around his ankle. It was like a rolled up and heavy sock that was too big but not big enough to slide off.

* * *

The thrift store had the same mouldy taste to the air as the motel. It seemed a little cleaner, probably because people were less willing to buy second hand clothes if they thought there was any chance they could be dirty or gross.

But, even though the clothes were clean, they were out of date and unfashionable. There was nothing that could be used to present Neal Caffrey, conman extraordinaire. Out of prison, he was feeling a little less like the confidence man he wanted to be. There was a black cloud hanging over him as he tried to ignore how he felt more like his past self than his current self.

A woman entered the shop, carrying a couple of clothes bags. She went straight for the counter and placed them in front of the employee.

"I'd like to donate these."

Neal glanced over as the bags were zipped open. He caught a glimpse of something which looked like a nice suit.

"Men's suits?"

Neal moved closer as the woman confirmed that.

"These are fantastic," he commented. This was the kind of stuff rich people paid a lot of money for. They would be comfortable and practical for work.

"They belonged to my late husband. Byron." The woman looked heartbroken for a moment before strengthening her resolve. "Friends suggested that donating some of his things I don't need as a way of helping me to move on after his passing."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Neal reached for the suit. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

Neal touched the fabric. It was high quality. Then he noticed something.

"This is a Devore."

"Yes. He won it from Sy himself."

Neal's mouth dropped open and asked more. The woman's name was June and she lived nearby with a closet full of suits like this one.

* * *

June was a lovely lady, even while mourning. She was wearing all black as her husband has only passed a few months ago. Neal sat with her, drinking tea the maid brought out, as she told him about Byron.

"Have you lost anyone before?" she asked him in a kindly voice. It was the kind of voice that already knew what the answer would be.

"Yeah," Neal sighed, placing the cup and saucer on the table. June was curious, he could tell. "My parents."

June nodded and pursed her lips. "That must have been difficult. May I ask when you lost them?"

"A long time ago now," Neal responded. He took a breath. "It happened back when I was a child. I became a ward of the state for a couple of terrifying weeks before a nice man took me in."

June raised her eyebrows. "I didn't think the state system was that bad."

"Let's just say I didn't have the most conventional upbringing," Neal commented with a grin. He thought about the bright colours and smells of a the circus. Of small spaces shared with friends and family. "And the system wasn't designed to be kind to those like me."

June understood what he meant, even without knowing exactly what he meant.

"I haven't visited my parents' graves in years," Neal suddenly felt like adding. "But that doesn't mean I don't think about them." He was trying to tell June that she would always feel Byron's loss but that it change with time. He was also hoping she wouldn't directly ask what his life had been like before his parents died. He didn't want to tell her but he wouldn't lie if she asked. She was giving him a place to stay and was hurting from her own loss.

"Tell me Neal, how good is your poker face?"

* * *

Neal woke the next morning to June and her eldest granddaughter bringing him breakfast and coffee. They spoke about anything and nothing. When Neal mentioned his artistic abilities, June's granddaughter requested that he look at her work.

It was around this time that Peter arrived. The FBI agent was befuddled by the space in the apartment and the taste of good coffee.

Neal smiled as he thought of his life before and how good coffee had been a must. He finished getting ready for work and met Peter downstairs.

He even twirled the hat before placing it on his head.

"You look like a cartoon."

That just took the wind out of his sails. Neal wondered for the first time if this deal had been a smart idea. If this was what he could expect from working with Peter, he would cut the anklet and run within the year.

Neal tuned out Peter's lecture on how a certain amount of work equalled a certain amount of stuff in life. If that was true, Neal would be owed a lot since he spent a lot his time growing up hunting down criminals. Which hadn't happened. Plus, Neal didn't expect anything for his actions.

They got into the car, drove into the office where Neal was introduced to the White Collar team. There was Clinton Jones, who people just called Jones. He was Peter's second in command and looked the part of ex-military. Diana Berrigan was immune to Neal's charms. She piled on the paperwork when Neal flirted with him and then informed him that she had a date with her girlfriend after work and wasn't going to stay late to fix any mistakes he made.

Finally, there was Hughes, their boss. Neal caught glimpses of the man as he spoke to other agents but didn't get a chance to speak with him.

Neal received a desk near the door. He stared at it for a few moments, waiting for it to sink in that this space was his work-space for the next four years.

* * *

Peter looked up when Neal walked into his office.

"Need something?" he asked.

Neal pulled out the files he had been working on and silently placed them in front of Peter.

"What?" Peter questioned as a confused expression flashed across his face. "Do you need some help filling them out?"

Neal smiled. "It's nice that you think that, but I'm not allegedly a great forger for nothing."

Peter opened the first file and his eyebrows went up. His eyes widened as he went through the rest of the completed files. By the end, he looked impressed. Neal ignored the pleased warm glow in his chest. He didn't need to seek out the approval of others. No matter how nice it felt to be seen and appreciated.

Peter even let out a little chuckle as he went back through the files and checked all of Neal's work. "Alright, let's get you something a little more interesting."


	11. Chapter 11

Neal looked at the clock and the looked around at the agents still gathered around the table. Set up against the wall was a pinboard, covered with notes on the Dutchman. The Dutchman was a forger who had vanished the last two times the FBI got close. Peter was staring at the information as if he expected the answer to jump off the board and bite him.

Diana and Jones were sitting at the table, flipping through files and typing on computers. They were gathering information and trying to figure out where the money exchanged for the forged pieces went.

"It's after five," he commented. Work was supposed to have ended by now. Most of the other agents had already left.

"Welcome to Peter's team," Jones whispered to him. "When we were chasing you, I think there were nights we didn't even go home."

"Of course, Peter did make sure we didn't work more than 30 hours in a row," Diana added. "Although he didn't do the same himself. I believe Hughes ordered him home once."

"Isn't he married?" Neal questioned, already knowing the answer. Peter's wife must have been a very forgiving woman to still be with the workaholic. "You know what, I'm going home."

As he stood up to leave, Peter grunted. "Jones, take Caffrey home."

"I can manage myself."

Everyone glanced down at Neal's ankle, where the tracking anklet was hidden underneath his slacks.

"Yeah, I'll take you home, Caffrey," Jones said.

Neal relented. He had a plan and Jones was just a complication in it. But not a very big one.

* * *

Neal's plan was simple. Get to Peter's house. He knew the tracking anklet would go off and he was hoping that it would attract Peter home.

He was gambling on Peter not wanting to arrest him after he met the wife.

Elizabeth Burke opened the door with a curious expression. Neal wondered if they got many visitors.

"You're Neal Caffrey! I thought you were at the office with Peter."

Neal grinned at her recognition. Peter must have shown her a picture or something. He tipped his hat in greeting.

"I was. But it's hometime and he wouldn't leave. I have a feeling he'll show up soon though." Neal pulled up a pant leg so that El could see the tracking anklet. The light on it was flashing red, indicting that Neal was outside his radius.

El sighed and let him in. "You know Peter's going to be mad you left your radius," she commented.

"I'll be lucky if he doesn't send me back, I know."

The sound of nails scrambling across the floor attracted his attention as a golden, large dog came running into the room.

"Oh!" The dog was friendly and warm. Neal enjoyed running his hands through the golden fur. "You're a beautiful boy."

"That's Satchmo," El explained. "You can take the couch while you wait for my husband to get here. Would you like anything? Tea, perhaps?"

"No thanks, Mrs Burke."

"Call me El."

Neal grinned and moved to the couch, petting Satchmo all the way.

* * *

"You're in my house, on my couch, with my wife."

Neal grinned at Peter while El pick up the photo album she had been showing him. Satchmo came running over for more pats.

Peter threw his hands in the air. "And now you're petting my dog."

"Did you really put Elizabeth under surveillance before you asked her out? Peter. I underestimated you." It was an adorable thing and it made Neal feel right at home. Mostly because his past girlfriends often found themselves vetted by his family or Neal himself.

"You told him."

"He said he wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing anyone else," El explained to Neal. Neal soaked up the story. "It's cute."

Peter didn't seem to think so.

"It's adorable," Neal said to reassure him.

"I'm putting you back in prison."

Neal blinked. That was a very light tone. "Are you... making a joke?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I can make a joke, Neal."

"Your ties don't count."

El laughed.

"El!" Peter said, scandalised.

* * *

Neal spent the night at the Burkes' with his anklet set to go off if he left the premises. Even with that, Peter commented that he didn't get good sleep that night.

They stopped off at June's so Neal could change before work. They reached the FBI office right on time. Peter was a little twitchy from being so close to being late but he calmed down as soon as Diana spotted them. She walked over with a file in hand and a big smile on her face.

"Boss, the warrant came through," she announced.

Peter took the file with a grin. Neal read over his shoulder.

"What's that for?" he asked when it wasn't clear which case it was connected to.

Peter motioned for him to follow. "Diana, get the rest of the agents involved. Neal. You wanted something interesting, this might be right up your alley."

"What is it?"

"The Dutchman. We've traced one of his aliases to a safety deposit box. I need you to crack it open." Neal raised his eyebrows. It seemed Peter understood the unspoken question of 'isn't that illegal?' "I have the warrant here. The bank just can't provide us with a combination as the boxes belong to the clients and the clients set the codes."

Neal got it. He had to figure out the combination to the safe and get Peter his evidence. He shrugged. Peter was right, it was interesting. At least, more interesting than paperwork.

* * *

It was nerve-raking. The eyes of at least ten agents bore into his back. They were all standing still, waiting for him to either succeed or fail. Neal didn't like focusing completely on the safe while he worked as he worried about what the agents might do the moment he stopped paying attention to them.

He twisted the knob. His fingers were pressed against it and the door, waiting to feel the slight shift of a pin beginning to slide into place.

When he felt it, he paused and waited a moment. A click sounded.

"Drop three," he announced.

There was a shuffling of shoulders and a couple of relieved sighs. One digit of a three digit combination and the FBI was already celebrating. In any other circumstance, Neal would laugh.

Another one fell, click sounding.

"Drop two." In the corner of his eye, Peter frowned. Neal found the last drop quickly, which was great because he had spent almost half and hour standing here. "Drop four. That's the last of it."

There were a couple of 'yeahs' and claps on the back as Neal announced he was about to open the safe.

"Wait!" Peter's tone was clipped and commanding.

Neal froze. He was used to instinctively following a tone like that.

"Peter?" Jones questioned.

"Two, three, four," Peter said. "Take out your phones, what does it say?"

Neal pressed his hand against the safe door, keeping it closed. Because Peter had realised something they had missed.

"FBI," Jones read out. "You think this is a trap?"

Neal thought about it. It was possible. "It's not like you're subtle," he pointed out. He ignored the frowns sent his way.

Peter nodded. "There is a chance that the Dutchman knew we were coming. There's no evidence of him using this alias recently. My gut says something more is going on here."

'Gut?' Neal mouthed to Jones. Jones grinned.

"Never bet against the gut," Jones said. "Peter's gut is right more often than not."

"I'll look for traps then," Neal said, turning back to the safe.

* * *

Peter's gut had been right. There was a trap built into the safe. Had Neal opened the safe, the evidence inside would have burned.

Neal found a way to disable it and they managed to get their hands on the evidence inside. It made Neal's eyes light up when they pulled out piles of money.

"Canadian one hundreds?" Jones questioned. "Could this be payment or loot?"

"Could be either," Peter said with a thoughtful frown. He turned to Neal, which was all the warning Neal got before an evidence bag was tossed into his hands.

Neal examined it.

"It looks right but," he hummed. Something told him that there was something fishy about this money. "I wouldn't go using it in a Canadian store."

Peter put to voice what Neal didn't want to confirm out loud since he didn't have any evidence.

"There's a chance they're fake?"

Neal nodded.

"Let's get on confirming that," Peter said, passing a bag to Jones and Diana. "If it's real, try and track how it got here. If it's fake, work with Neal to figure out where the materials may have come from. This is our first solid lead on the Dutchman, let's not waste it."


	12. Chapter 12

Neal left the office feeling like little progress had been made. Peter had been nice enough to let Neal take home one of the forged notes, which had been marked so Neal couldn't use it. Even so, he had a feeling Peter only did it so they could justify going home on time. With Neal doing his thing, Peter felt he could take a small break until Neal returned with news.

Neal intended to return with news. There was no way he was going to let the Dutchman get away. It should of worried him that he was enjoying trying to catch the criminal. It was a challenge which made his blood run hot and his head swim with possibilities. He had no idea where to go from now but at least he could spend the night puzzling over it.

* * *

Peter dropped Neal off at June's and Neal entered the quiet and still home. June was out with friends of hers and wouldn't be back until late.

In the still silence, something was off. Instead of being calming, it pricked at his skin. He was alert. Practised senses picked up something off. A movement of air or the very soft crack of the human body moving, Neal wasn't sure exactly what tipped him off.

There was an umbrella stand near the door. It wasn't the best weapon but Neal could make it work. It would also act as a distraction from his high-level fighting skills.

A voice sounded strong in the darkness. "I saw the best mind of my generation get run down by the drunken taxicab of absolute reality."

Relief and frustration flooded Neal. He flicked the light switch, revealing the short, bald and bespectacled man sitting at the table.

"Mozzie? Sitting in the dark misquoting Ginsberg?"

"The light's how they find you, man." Mozzie picked up a bottle of June's wine.

"Hey, you know, you can't just help yourself here." June didn't deserve to have Mozzie, or any of them really, stealing her food and drink. "How'd you get in?"

"I used this." Mozzie held up a fist. Mozzie? Punching his way in? The older man must have seen some of the shock on Neal's face because he elaborated, "I knocked. I introduced myself to June. She's great."

Moz had tricked him like a simple mark; hook, line and sinker.

"Thanks for coming," he said. He had contacted his friend the moment he got out on the anklet.

"What was I going to do? Not come?" Neal refrained from answering with a positive. He wouldn't have contacted Mozzie if Mozzie hadn't been his only lifeline. Plus, Moz had made him promise to let him know if the Suit took the deal and let him out. "Can I see it?"

"Huh?" Neal questioned. Mozzie pointed to his ankle and, with a silent sigh, Neal pulled up his pant leg. Mozzie looked curiously at the device now attached to Neal. "Can you pick it?" Neal asked. It would be awesome to get it off, even for a few moments. The thing was chaffing his leg. Neal often walked around wearing socks so the band didn't scratch around his leg.

"No way. You flew too close to the sun, my friend. They burned your wings."

"I don't need wings to fly, Moz," Neal retorted before recalling the Mozzie didn't know about his background of 'flying'. "Oh, by the way, Peter tossed me an interesting case. Want to take a look?"

"You know, jumping for FBI scraps is beneath you," Mozzie pointed out. However, he didn't move away so Neal pulled out the forged Canadian note. "It's superb." He looked up at Neal. "You didn't make this?"

"No. The Dutchman did. All I've discovered so far is that he's managed to recreate or acquire the security strip for his forgeries."

"Impressive. You know the worst thing about art forgery? You can't take credit for your work."

Putting his initials into his forgeries was one way Neal had signed his work. Coming up with ways to 'sign' his work was just as fun as creating it.

"Maybe he did," Neal mused.

* * *

Peter smiled when he saw the grin on Neal's face.

"Got something?" he asked.

Neal refused to tell him until they reached the office. Once Peter eliminated a new crime being the something making Neal pleased, Neal enjoyed Peter's attempts to try and guess or trick him into letting slip whatever it was that had him smiling.

"Okay, gather round, I have uncovered something," Neal crowed in the meeting room, making a show of it. Even if Peter, Jones and Diana were the only ones there. He pulled out the note with a flourish, one of the ones that had been in evidence all night so they couldn't claim he added the initials to the note.

He pulled up the initials and grinned at the group. "So, turns out, the Dutchman is a vain one."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"What are we supposed to be looking at?" Jones questioned, squinting his eyes.

Neal sighed. He pointed to the picture, in the weave of the man's shoulder.

"There. That's the Dutchman's initials, CH."

"That could be anything," Peter commented, leaning closer to the note.

"What? Come on Peter, that's a C and a H."

Jones snickered.

"Boss, Caffrey seems to be onto something."

"Thank you."

With an annoyed glance at him, she continued, "Although I would like to know why he's convinced they're our forger's initials."

Neal considered that for a few moments. Peter and Jones looked at him and waited for his reaction. Peter look interested while Jones was frowning slightly as if he already expected Neal would refuse.

Neal didn't see a reason to refuse. He shrugged. "You already proved the bonds were my work. However, did any of you try looking at them under polarised light?" He already knew they hadn't. Had they, it would have turned up at his trial. Thankfully, the bonds were the only things he did that trick with. He had more tricks up his sleeve.

"Probably best not to mention this outside this room," Diana commented.

"We should start looking into a CH who could have done this work."

"Except, Jones," Neal hummed, "I've already done that."

Peter rolled his eyes. Neal could hear the unspoken 'showoff' and he grinned.

"Who is it then?" Peter asked, playing along.

"Curtis Hagen," Neal stated. He pulled out the information, including a couple of pictures of Hagen's work.

Neal pointed to a piece Hagen had restored in the past, around about the time the fake dollars started floating around. It was a Goya. Neal's research had revealed how Hagen had gotten interested in Goya pieces a few years back. For some reason, he started specialising in them.

"See, right there," Neal said, placing a magnifier up against the pants leg of one of the humans in the painting. "A C and H."

"It does look similar," Diana agreed.

"It's probably worth a shot to question Hagen about this."

Neal snorted. "Got any fingerprints on him like you did me?"

Peter started piling up Neal's research. "Let's just interview Hagen first."

"Please don't tell me you're hoping he confesses. If there's no way to prove it, he's not going to confess." Neal knew he wouldn't have. Who would?

"You got us this information, Neal," Diana commented. "So now it's our turn to do what we do best."

"Catch the criminal," Jones summed up.

Neal rolled his eyes at the dramatic flair they put into their words. Nothing like the stuffy suits he imagined once upon a time. He could possibly enjoy working with this team after all.


	13. Chapter 13

Peter brought Neal with him to question Curtis Hagen. Hagen was currently working at an art gallery, doing Goya restorations. This surprised Neal.

"You're not bringing him to the office?" Neal questioned.

"We'd rather not give the impression that we're ready to arrest him when we're not," Peter responded.

"Okay, so no spooking the mark," Neal pointed out.

"Suspect," Peter corrected automatically.

"Suspect."

Neal didn't add anything more as they were right outside the office where Hagen worked. He was set up at a table with a painting before him. He was concentrating but not so hard that he didn't notice their entrance. While he didn't look up, he did comment, in a distinctively British tone, "can I help you gentlemen?"

Peter smiled. "We just have a few questions, mostly about your work and where it takes you."

Hagen put the paintbrush down and looked up at them. He was a short man but his glare was heated. Neal felt his hackles rise in response to the unspoken challenge.

"I don't have time for interviews or," he waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever this is. Unless you come with some way to force me to talk, leave."

Neal held out his hand. "Nice to meet you anyway."

Hagen looked at the hand and then at Neal's face. "Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief."

"I was never arrested for art theft," Neal corrected. Accuracy was important to him, especially since he could still serve time for such crimes if by some miracle Peter managed to put together enough evidence to charge him.

"But, as I recall, you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you can understand my concern at having you in my space." Animosity flowed from Hagen's every word. Neal liked him less and less the more he was in his presence. Hagen turned to Peter and asked, "and you are?"

Peter had an air of calm around him. "Just a friend," he responded.

"Well, friend, this area is staff only."

* * *

Neal took a deep breath when they left. Peter's lips twitched in amusement.

"Didn't you like him?" Peter questioned in an amused tone.

Neal plastered a smile on his face. "Not at all." Hagen just reminded him of most of the criminals he had met. He felt like going home and drinking wine with Moz. He needed to remind himself that not all criminals showed contempt for other people.

* * *

Peter's plan bore fruit the very next day. There was good news and bad news.

"Hagen is leaving the country."

The group was silent as Peter announced that. "He booked a flight through a charter company in Barcelona for the 19th."

"Why Spain?" Diana questioned.

"I don't know. Find me a reason to care," Peter huffed, annoyed at the direction this investigation had taken. "We have one week to catch this guy and absolutely nothing connecting him to any of the Dutchman's crimes."

Neal eyed his anklet and wondered. He could cut it off and go and threaten Hagen into confessing. Then again, he didn't think Hagen would confess. Even if Neal put the fear of the dark into him.

Neal could play a good Batman but some criminals weren't scared of Batman until he was breathing down their necks and causing them problems.

"Don't even think about it," Peter said to him, snapping him out of his illusions of grabbing Hagen and throwing him into the air. "If you run, you go right back into prison."

That wasn't nice. Neal already knew that he would go back to prison if he cut and run. Of course, it could just be that Peter was sensing his desire to cut the anklet and misinterpreting it as Neal wanting to run.

"Besides, Jones has news for us. Jones?"

Jones grinned and spread some photos out on the table. What looked like industrial or abandoned buildings covered the small section of the table. They could be anywhere along the waterfront and were a staple of any big city.

"After you two spooked Hagen, he spent his evening here."

"It's probably where he keeps the stuff he used to create the forgeries," Neal mused.

"Too bad we need a warrant to get in there," Diana reminded Neal.

Neal pouted. That seemed like a waste of time. "We know where they are, why can't we just walk in?"

Peter pulled out a book as if he had been waiting for a chance to give it to Neal. "Read up on warrant law, Neal. There's nothing linking Hagen, whatever's in that warehouse and the forgeries together."

* * *

Neal did read up. It wasn't anything new however, lying across the chair and sipping at tea caused him to see the information in a new way. Mostly a way involving his changed circumstances. After all, there was a way to get the FBI into the building thanks to him.

All he had to do was activate his tracker. The FBI was able to enter anywhere they believed he was without a warrant and, should they find anything illegal going on, confiscate and arrest people involved regardless of their connection to the original reason they were there.

Neal thought about the best way to go about accomplishing his plan and he spotted the camera sitting on the coffee table. Mozzie had left it there after 'scouting' Peter's place and the FBI building. Neal wiped the photos, glad that this plan gave him a reason to, and left.

* * *

_"Federal Agents! Do not move!"_

Neal's heart thudded in excitement as the FBI stormed the premises. The building was mostly empty, except for the bullet-proof, glass windowed office Neal had locked himself in and the printing presses which Hagen had kept. Along with his muscle guy for some reason. It had been the muscle which had pulled Neal into the building. Neal had been taking pictures outside, knowing that the people inside were on edge. He tried blabbing about a photography project but stopped when it became obvious that they weren't listening to him. However, their inattention towards him gave him a chance to run for the office and lock himself in while he waited for the FBI to follow his tracker.

It was a good plan. Peter could take the presses into evidence and Neal bet they would be able to prove the fake money were printed by them.

"If I count you running to my house, this is the third time I've caught you," Peter pointed out. "3 and 0."

"Ha. No," Neal pointed out, still smiling. Banter seemed to always be a staple of moments like this; moments where the job was done and they could relax for a moment before the next one started. "You caught me once and that's because I let you."

"You didn't let me," Peter said.

"Fine," Neal huffed. "Maybe I should try harder then."

* * *

Mozzie paced back and forth, making Neal a little dizzy watching him.

"No, no, no!" he ranted. "You're getting to close to them Neal."

"This isn't a con," Neal reminded him. "It's a mutual agreement. They get my skills and services and I get my freedom."

Mozzie stopped and turned to fix Neal with an unblinking stare. Neal started out smiling, which turned into a frown.

"Come on, Moz. Peter's clean and he's honest. You found that out when you vetted him."

"I probably missed something."

Neal chuckled. It was unlikely that Mozzie missed anything.

Moz opened another bottle of wine. "I will convince you I'm right. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

It took three more glasses of wine before Mozzie admitted that he was staying the night because he didn't want to walk home.

"Those teenage cape-suits are running around. Ernie said a blond one with temper problems questioned him the other night."

"What about?" Neal asked, instantly on edge. The teenage cape-suits were the Teen Titans so the blond one was probably Red Robin's Wondergirl.

"Some Morettis and Barellis are getting a little heated. We're thinking there's a gang war brewing."

"Stay here and stay out of it," Neal advised.

Mozzie nodded. "That's the plan." He held his glass up and he and Neal toasted to staying out of mob wars and the things that attract vigilante justice.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So, I'm skimming over a couple of White Collar episodes to hopefully show some character progression (some of the things which changed) but also not take five chapters to do so. There's also a slight reference taken from Powerless - the existence of the 'Fantasy Superhero League' which existed in the show. The words before the story sections are the titles of the episodes where they take place.

 

**Book of Hours**

Neal arrived at work to the news that a known mobster had made a request of the FBI; find his stolen bible. Mozzie and Neal came up with the theory that someone might believe in the stories surrounding the bible. The ones which painted it as a healing bible.

Taking the story to Peter, Neal couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive.

"Maybe you don't steal it for the money, maybe you steal it because you're a true believer?" Neal suggested. He waited, steeling himself.

"I guess it's worth looking into," Peter commented.

Neal blinked. Peter walked off, calling Jones up to give him some orders. He didn't know what he had been bracing for, but that wasn't it.

A few days into the case and Neal meets Agent Ruiz when their suspect turns up dead. Ruiz believed he was killed to ignite the war between the Morettis and Barellis. Ruiz seemed like he had grown up in Gotham, the city with the highest crime rate. He didn't trust 'criminals' but wasn't completely clean himself. However, he also wasn't a big threat, just a frustration.

Ruiz took their case, claiming mob wars were Organised Crime's jurisdiction.

Peter gave Neal an FBI windbreak because he looked cold, along with subtle hints that Neal should try and get them the case back. Mozzie was happier than Neal thought he would be when Neal asked him to impersonate the FBI and get into their deceased suspect's house.

They had a new suspect, Maria Fiametta, an author of history books. When Neal presented this information Peter asked where he got it from.

"A friend," Neal responded. When he saw Peter's doubtful look, he added, "The same guy. He's real, I'm not making him up."

"Oh, I know he's real," Peter commented. It was then Neal realised what the feeling was. Peter treated him like an equal. Not like someone stupid because he talked a lot or someone who was an untouchable because of reputation or skill. It was strange but not unwelcome.

* * *

**All In**

The Chinese Interpol woman dropped his bugged watch into a glass, effectively silencing it. Neal frowned at that and knew that back at the restaurant the FBI had made base at, Peter was probably worrying.

Neal wondered if, when he told Peter what happened, he should omit the gun being shoved in his face.

"You're an interesting man, Neal Caffrey. I wonder, would the FBI be as willing to have you on retainer if I told them who you really are?"

Neal swallowed, nervous. The last thing he needed was someone digging into his past. While there was nothing to find, it didn't mean there wasn't any danger involved.

"Botch the deal and I'll give you what I found." She held up a USB. There was no way to know what was on it.

Neal was trapped. However, he prided himself on his ability to think and con his way out of even the most troublesome scenarios. He lost his bugged watch in a gamble to Lao, their FBI killer and target. It allowed the FBI to get whatever they needed to arrest Lao, which was what they needed after Neal botched the deal as per his deal with the Interpol woman. He received the USB from her before gambling away the watch and walking out having achieved all his goals.

The USB was empty. Had she actually found anything, it wasn't there any longer. It was a relief but also a worry. How far would he go to bury his past?

* * *

**Free Fall**

Special Agent Garrett Fowler of OPR. Neal didn't like him. It was agents like Fowler that made Mozzie's conspiracy theories seem like possibilities. A jewellery necklace was stolen and replaced with a fake. Neal became the main suspect thanks to Fowler's work.

Neal suspected his initials turning up on the fake diamond had something to do with the visiting agent as well. Was he a scapegoat for the real criminal? Or was there something more at work here?

One thing was clear, Neal had to prove his innocence before he could get to the bottom of whatever Fowler was planning.

Peter summed up the situation well as they sat together in the grey meeting area of the prison.

"The thief is associated with law enforcement. Your anklet was tampered with. You have no alibi. And your initials are on that diamond. What am I to think?"

"I was set up," Neal insisted.

"By who?"

"I'm working on that." Fowler was at the stop of his suspect list.

"Agent Burke?"

Peter rounded on the guard. "What?"

"His lawyer's here." Lovely words, just lovely. Neal grinned as Mozzie walked in.

"He's a lawyer?" Peter questioned in disbelief.

"Check my University of Phoenix degree. Go, Cardinals."

 

Neal had a lot of time while he was under arrest and in holding. Mozzie had not only requested all FBI files on him but had followed Fowler to watch what his reaction was.

The hours in prison were filled with piecing together sheets which Fowler had shredded and Mozzie had 'rescued'. It revealed transcripts of discussions between Peter and Neal which the FBI shouldn't have.

Neal planned while in prison. This was going to go well, he knew it. He was going to take a dive from the DA's office to the ground below. Mozzie was off breaking the air-con in the DA's office as well was making sure the bakery they just bought together had a nice awning for Neal to land on. Office, fall to awning, drop to ground. Neal had been doing more ambitious stunts before he had been out of diapers.

 

After seeing the transcripts Fowler had recorded off his phone, Peter agreed to help Neal clear his name. They managed to find the real thief and recover the necklace but Fowler's real intentions were not uncovered and the OPR agent left with a promise to return.

* * *

**Hard Sell**

Neal sat on the ground outside Avery's house, thinking about the last few hours. It had been a while since he had been so close to dying while on the job. He was out of practice.

Peter came and sat down next to him.

"Were you running?" he asked.

"Huh?" Neal didn't understand where the question came from.

"Neal, before we caught you, you travelled to a bunch of countries in a short span of time. Everyone seems to think that you were just going after the next big score but I think you were running from something. And it wasn't us."

"Oh?" Neal questioned.

Peter shook his head. "Be honest, Neal."

Honest would be admitting to Peter that his name wasn't Neal until a few years ago.

"I wasn't running from anything," Neal said instead. "I just didn't know where I wanted to go so I went everywhere."

"Poetic," Peter hummed. They looked away from each other just in time to spot someone flying across the sky. "Was that Superman?"

Neal raised a sceptical eyebrow. "In New York? Maybe, but it's more likely to be Superboy or someone else."

"Know a little about superheroes, then?" Peter said in a teasing tone. "Are you going to start stealing comics? Like Avery's back there?"

Neal barked a laugh. "Nah. Come on Peter, hang around Jones while he talks Fantasy Superhero League. You'll know a bit about heroes by the end of it."

Peter pondered that for a moment. "I guess you're right."

"You should come down from your stuffy office from time to time," Neal commented with a teasing grin.

"And leave my office open for curious ex-conmen to sneak in? No thanks," Peter responded, referring to the time Neal had snuck into his office and taken his chair.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Another mini-episode time skip chapter. Episodes are listed in bold. It's also a bit longer than my usual chapters, hopefully that makes up for the recap stuff for those who have seen White Collar.

 

**Bad Judgment**

More weeks passed. Peter expected Fowler to make some kind of comeback but they didn't hear from him.

"Maybe it's because we took his Judge out of play?" the new probie, Agent Blake suggested.

They had just arrested a corrupt Judge. She had been forging signatures of the recently deceased elderly in order to foreclose their properties when the families couldn't pay up. She was also in Fowler's pocket and they hadn't seen Fowler since her arrest.

"I doubt it," Peter said hesitantly.

"People like Fowler don't just disappear," Neal pointed out. "He'll be back in some way."

"As frustrating as it is, Neal is right," Peter confirmed. Neal wished he wasn't but he had seen a lot of people like Fowler. They didn't just give up and walk away. "But there's not much we can do about it."

"Fowler's OPR, making him close to untouchable," Jones sighed.

Diana looked between the disgruntled expression on Peter's face and the gloomy one on Jones' face. Even Neal looked a little down with the news.

"We'll be ready if he returns," she said. "And if he steps even one toe out of line, we'll get him." Neal was surprised at how strongly she said that. As if she noticed his surprise, she added, "he doesn't get a free pass to mess with any of us just because he's OPR."

'Amazing,' Neal mouthed, looking away. He knew that this team was a good one but he didn't realise they were that dedicated.

* * *

**Vital Signs**

Neal hadn't expected to get caught. He hadn't expected the drug they injected him with to work so well. Either his resistance had gone down or they had mixed up something powerful.

"Pe'er," he mumbled. The world was blurred and his stomach was rolling around inside him. "I d't know what... they d'ugged me."

Peter said something about how he knew that.

"Not suppo'd to work."

"What?"

"Not supposed to be drugged. High res-s-sistance."

"Neal. I shouldn't ask this but, why do you expect to have a high resistance to drugs?"

"...'M not tellin'. Suppos-s-ed to. Drugs bad. Mean death."

Peter shook his head fondly at that. Neal felt a hot spike of frustration. It wasn't funny!

"Drugs in the system mean difference between life and death in the field!" he cried out. It probably only sounded clear because he had to learn that by heart as a kid, along with the rest of the things which could mean death in the field. Most of the reason he learnt that one was to make sure he contacted someone whenever he did encounter a new or old drug.

That lesson didn't stick as well as it could have... Neal didn't know how or why Peter turned up to help him. Neal hadn't contacted him.

"The field? Neal, what are you talking about?" Peter questioned. His voice rumbled with worry and Neal closed his eyes. It was nice... kind of reminded him of someone.

Neal didn't answer as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**Home Invasion**

Alex. Neal hadn't seen her since Copenhagen. He knew she had an easier time getting out than he did, which was probably part of the reason he hadn't reached out to her. But now she was reaching out to him.

"Someone's after me," she explained, pacing his apartment. "Because of the music box."

"The one we failed to steal?" Neal questioned in surprise. He hadn't heard any chatter about that. The only chatter about the music box was the assumption that they had managed to pull off the heist. Neither Neal nor Mozzie were going to correct that.

Alex nodded. "I know you've gone fed but I need an ally. At this point, I don't care where they come from as long as I can trust them. Can I trust you, Neal?"

Neal crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. "I'm a conman. Even if I answered 'yes,' I doubt you'd be able to believe me. Besides-" he pulled up his pant leg to show her the anklet, "I'm kind of stuck."

Alex frowned and brushed a strand of brown hair out of her face and behind her ear. "Like Neal Caffrey would let himself be 'stuck' down by an anklet."

Neal snorted. Yeah, right. It wasn't easy to break out of the anklet, which was the only reason Peter was comfortable letting him out of his sight.

"It's easier not to get into the anklet in the first place," he responded. "These things are designed like a fortress."

"And you've broken into fortresses before," Alex reminded him. "Besides, if someone's managed to connect me to the box, how long before they start coming after you? They might already be messing in your life."

"I doubt it," Neal said, even though the gears had started turning with that information.

It was possible that someone was pulling strings in his new life. He just wasn't in the right position to notice them.

* * *

**Bottlenecked**

Keller returned. On the bright side, Neal saw a chance to finally get Keller off the street. He was dangerous.

Watching as Keller had no choice but to turn himself over to the FBI, Neal was felt pleased as he went home. That was until he found an envelope sitting on his table. It was white and blank.

It hadn't been mailed. Someone had placed it there. Neal walked over to the bed and pulled out the kit he had stuffed into the mattress. He used the kit the test the envelope.

No poisons had been used on it. It wasn't a bomb.

A heavy frown was on his face as he carefully opened it with gloves on. Photos spilled out onto the table. They were not of him or Mozzie. Elizabeth, Peter's wife, featured in all of them. They were taken from different distances and at different angles. Neal felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

A folded piece of paper was sitting off the side, where it landed. Neal picked it up and opened it.

_'Bring me the music box or it'll be your fault if something happens to her. What do you think the FBI will be like then?'_

Neal swallowed, heart sinking in his chest. He had been trying to get away from stuff like this. He didn't think he could keep this creep away from El. After all, he had been a failure, that's why he was the way he was. He couldn't protect people. Not even with forewarning like this.

The way he was or not, Neal couldn't help trying. He had to try. For El. For Peter.

He reached for the phone number Alex had left him and called her. First, he needed to get the music box.

* * *

**Front Man**

Mozzie had mentioned something about a meeting with a couple of kids before leaving. Neal sat in the quiet of the apartment and looked over the pictures he had been sent. He hadn't told Peter about them yet, worried about what the agent's reaction might be. Distracting Peter with this might get the agent killed. Neal had decided to show Mozzie instead when he realised he wasn't getting anywhere with decoding who had taken the photos. The door opened and Neal spoke without looking.

"Alex."

"Hm. I'm not even going to ask how you knew that," Alex commented. She hesitated at the door before walking over and taking the seat Mozzie had vacated half and hour earlier. She picked up one of the photos. "This is the agent's wife, right?"

Neal snatched the photo back and glared at her.

"Calm down," Alex huffed. "I'm not the bad guy here. If you recall, I warned you that something like this might happen."

"Yeah, well, congratulations. You were right. Now what do we do about it?"

"I guess," Alex stretched out across the table and brushed her hands over his. "We steal a music box."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "We? You're just going to give it to me?"

"If it gets the mystery guy off your back, yeah. You can have it after I'm done with it."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Of course." It was just like Alex to make a deal where she would benefit. Now there was no guarantee that she would give him the music box complete with whatever his mystery extortionist wanted but Neal didn't have a choice if he wanted to protect El and, by extension, Peter.

Alex grinned and gave him a light slap on the arm. "It'll take a few days to get everything ready. Make sure you let Mozzie know. We're going to need his help."

"You could tell him yourself."

Alex frowned for a moment before shaking her head. "Make sure you're both ready."

 

Five minutes with 'Agent Kimberly Rice' and Neal's assessment was that she had a long way to go before she could be considered a top agent. Plus, her skills and ego hadn't been helped by people treating her like a top agent before her time.

It was a kidnapping case, not white collar so Neal was surprised he was being included. There had to be more to this than his connection to the victim's father. He hadn't even met the man whose bonds he forged before his trial. The man seemed frustrated that Neal was walking around but that paled in the wake of his worry for his kidnapped daughter.

"What's this kidnapping got to do with me?"

Agent Rice's respond was short and snappy. "You have a history with our prime suspect. Ryan Wilkes."

Neal's stomach dropped. Wilkes had been another Keller. Neal had done one job for him as a favour to Mozzie. As in a, Mozzie ran afoul of Wilkes and Neal couldn't watch his friend almost kill himself running a job for him so Neal offered to do it instead.

Wilkes used guns. He enjoyed using guns.

"You know him?" Wilkes was supposed to be in prison. Had be made parole already? "Neal."

Neal snapped out of his thoughts at the order in Peter's voice and nodded. "Yeah," he said, a little breathless with worry. "Yeah," he repeated. He knew him. Wilkes was probably out for his blood.

Neal wondered if he should mention to Peter that he had been the one who sold Wilkes out to the authorities, collecting reward money and a little extra from Wilkes' own accounts in the process.

Then came the part he dreaded. It wasn't Rice requesting his services, although she completely ignored him and went straight for Peter and Hughes with her request as if he wasn't standing right there. Peter spoke up in defence of putting Neal in danger and Neal wondered if telling Mozzie about this might endear him to 'The Suit' a little more.

Rice grinned as Neal was turned over to her for the duration of this case. She turned to him. "Now that we're all on the same page, let's start with an easy one." Here came the question Neal was dreading. "When's the last time you saw Wilkes?"

Neal decided to be blunt and honest. "Probably when he tried to kill me."

If there hadn't been a girl's life at stake, Neal might have considered putting up a fight about working with Rice. As it was, it would probably be faster to do what the pushy and inexperienced agent wanted.


	16. Chapter 16

Neal woke up inside a van. He kept his body loose as he tried to figure out what had happened.

Rice. She had taken his anklet off and told him to wait. Peter had called, telling him to get out of there.

"Neal, you're the ransom."

Peter had been panicked and worried for him. But the warning had come too late. Neal had been knocked out with a taser and grabbed. Internally, he cursed. Now he was a hostage, if Wilkes let him live. Neal could sense him in the van with him.

"Top of the morning to you." Neal squinted in a glaring manner up at Wilkes. The man grinned down at him with a sinister sparkle in his eye. "Monster headache, right? It'll pass." Wilkes kept talking and Neal gave quick single phrase responses. He wasn't interested in talking. Wilkes continued, "you had to rip me off for, what, 500 grand?"

"I'll write you a check."

"Normally, I kill people for that sort of thing."

"But?"

"But today is your lucky day." Neal didn't disagree with that. His guard had been so far down that, had Wilkes wanted him dead, he would be dead. "You get to make it up to me."

"What about Lindsey?" Neal needed to make this count for something. He was here to help the kidnapped girl.

Wilkes refused to let her go until Neal did a job for him. He gave Neal a task. Get the itinerary for one Thomas Loze. To make it worse, he gave Neal two minutes before he would shoot the woman working the desk.

Wilkes wouldn't bend and Neal was forced to jog across the road. He mussed up his hair and played to part of the poor, working single father, who lost the itinerary for his client. He appealed to the side of the receptionist who was a mother. And then to her hometown. He dropped the name and she printed out the itinerary for him. Neal tapped his fingers as he waited for it to print, looking around.

There was an advertisement sitting on the desk. Maybe he could get a message out.

He hummed and said, "I might know someone who's interested in your rewards program." He gave the receptionist the name 'Dante Haversham' and June's number. He hoped June would show it to Mozzie or Peter. Either one would know it to be a message from him.

* * *

Neal stood in the airport, waiting for Wilkes' target to walk out. Wilkes had reluctantly brought him to see Lindsay. The girl was doing alright for someone who had been kidnapped by a violent criminal. However, their time together was short and Neal had no idea where she was or how to get a message about her to Peter. Soon enough, Neal was getting ready for the job. Steal the case 'Thomas Loze' was carrying. The current plan was Neal was to pretend to be his limo driver and take in from him while he's in the limo.

"You know where I can catch a shuttle to the city?"

Neal breathed a sigh of relief at the voice. Moz.

"No need for the cloak and dagger. Wilkes isn't here."

Mozzie instantly switched from lost tourist to worried friend.

"We're here to help you get out of this."

Neal didn't miss the use of the plural. Mozzie, working with the feds? He must be worried. It warmed Neal but also worried him. The stakes were high on this one: a girl's life hung in the balance.

"Listen." Peter popped out from behind a column. Neal raised his eyebrows, impressed at the way the fed had managed to hide his presence. "This Loze guy you're going after, it's Edward Reilly."

Neal cursed. Edward Reilly was a delivery guy and a smuggler for VIP criminals. He hand delivered anything he was given, which meant he went to whatever measures he needed to protect it and himself.

If Neal went through with this, Reilly would hunt him down. It was the last thing Neal needed.

"If I don't get his briefcase to Wilkes by 4, he'll kill Lindsay."

"You sure?"

Neal was pretty sure. The guard had no mask and a silencer attached to his gun. Lindsay wasn't supposed to live through the day. They needed to find her but Neal had been knocked out with the taser each time.

"Her guard was eating from a restaurant called Wok of Fire." It was the little details that helped.

"Chinese takeout near the water," Peter mused. "We can work with that."

Neal couldn't help them find her though, he needed to get the case. A back-up plan for if they didn't manage to find her in time.

Mozzie stayed to help him. "So, what's your plan?" he asked eagerly. When Neal didn't respond he questioned in a joking manner, "a gun in the glove compartment?" The smile quickly faded as he realised that was Neal's plan. "That's your plan, a gun in the glove compartment," he stated in shock.

It was not the best of plans but Neal was stressed. Plus, with the addition of the gun, he couldn't help wondering what his old mentor would think. Neal really didn't like using guns, they reminded him too much of the past.

"What if," Mozzie suggested, "he gave it to you? And was happy to give it to you?"

"Zigzag scam?" Pretend to be the authorities and trick him into giving them the case for his freedom? It might work.

* * *

Wilkes wanted the case because Reilly had hidden golden cards in a secret compartment. Pre-loaded gold cards which easily held a couple thousand each.

A portable fortune.

Neal wasn't going to just hand it over to him. He stalled for time, first by attempting to find out about Lindsay. Then by making Wilkes think he had hidden the cards. After all, Wilkes hadn't found the hidden pocket yet so the case looked empty. Wilkes was still going to kill her so Neal made a dangerous play.

He implied that he used the cards to turn Wilkes' men against him.

"I think you're bluffing." Neal's heart was thudding in his chest as Wilkes dialed.

"Yeah, boss?" There was nothing Neal could do.

"Kill her." He was going to have to stand here, useless. "And leave the phone on speaker." And listen to a young girl die because he was good enough.

He wanted to screw his eyes shut but he stubbornly refused to show Wilkes that weakness.

"FBI! Put that down! Now! Drop the gun! Drop the gun!"

 _Peter!_ Neal's heart leapt as he and Wilkes realised what had happened. Neal could collapse right there. Lindsay was safe.

"Sounds like they got company," he quipped.

Just was Wilkes was about to shoot him, Jones and his agents jumped out with guns, ordering them to stand down.

It was over.

* * *

Mozzie gave Neal a lift back to June's. Mozzie had a taxi and he didn't mind giving Neal a lift back.

"My reputation may have leaked," Mozzie commented when Neal asked how his other thing went. "I had a couple of older teens looking for their brother. For some reason, they thought I could help."

Neal didn't think that far fetched. If he wanted to find someone, he would talk to Mozzie. It was part of Mozzie's job to know who was in town and what they could do.

"Maybe their brother is a criminal," he mused. Although that didn't explain why they needed help to find the guy.

"If he is, I've never heard of him. I mean, maybe it's the challenge the kids said it was but I'm not in the family finding business."

Neal didn't really agree with that. Mozzie would never deny a kid their family, unless the family was one they were better off without. Plus, he knew Moz had grown up in an orphanage. A search for family would resonate with that part of him.

Neal didn't argue though. Mozzie pulled up and he got out.

"You're not coming in?"

"Nah," Mozzie responded. "I'm going to do some driving around, see what I can dig up. Besides June is out with friends so our parcheesi game is put on hold for today."

"That's a shame." Neal knew Mozzie looked forward to his games with his landlady.

"See you, Neal. Try to resist the lure of the Man."

Neal laughed as Mozzie drove off. He opened the door to June's and walked in.

For the second time since he started living there, his senses prickled. He didn't think he was alone.

It was the last thing he needed after the long day he had. Grabbing a weapon, he stepped into the next room and flicked the switch on.

"What the," he questioned, brows knitting in confusion. He couldn't be seeing what he was seeing.

A tall, slender man with tan skin stood in the middle of the room with his hands fixed behind his back. His light eyes widened in shock as the room was lit. Behind him, sitting at the table was a blond adult, her lips shiny with pink gloss. She stood up the moment she saw him, not paying heed to her chair as it tumbled to the ground.

"Well, what do you know?" the blond commented.

"She was right," the young adult mused.

Play dumb. Neal had to play dumb.

"Who are you people? How did you get in here?" he questioned, holding up his weapon.

The young adult eyed it with an impassive expression. He looked back up at Neal's face a moment later, unimpressed. He tossed something at the ground and a pale cloud of gas sprayed out.

Neal didn't react fast enough. He inhaled the gas, already beginning to feel the effects.

He cursed as he dropped into unconsciousness.


	17. Chapter 17

Artificial light awaited beyond the darkness. Neal was getting tired of waking up after being knocked out. This time he was tired to a chair. He subtlety tested the bonds. Rope was twisted around his wrists, binding them to the arms of the chair. The chair was wooden, like something put in a dining room. He wondered for a moment if he had been pulled up to his apartment, except the light wasn't right.

Water was flicked onto his face.

"We know you're awake," the blond woman pointed out in a sickly pleasant voice.

Neal braced himself before opening his eyes.

"Hello. I don't suppose you'll tell me why you've kidnapped me?" he asked. "I mean, it's flattering but I've already been kidnapped today."

She flicked her blond hair and frowned at him. Neal supposed she was disappointed that he wasn't suddenly acting friendly or something.

"Do you think he remembers us?" she asked the young man.

Neal raised an eyebrow at the young man. He did. Or at least, he could guess who the young man was. He had grown since Neal had last seen him, taller than average for a boy in his mid-to-late teens. However, Neal didn't remember them. Or wasn't supposed to. So he didn't even risk slipping their names into his thoughts.

It was time to distract them. "I feel I should inform you that the FBI will be looking for me."

"Oh, are they the ones behind the fancy piece of jewelry you were wearing on your ankle?" the woman questioned with a laugh in her eyes. "We left that back at the house."

"And what were you doing there?" Neal asked.

"We were waiting for the short man," the young man said. Neal didn't comment on the cracking towards the end of the sentence, a sign that he had grown but wasn't yet 'grown up'. "Mozart or whatever you call him."

"Mozzie," the woman corrected.

The young man clicked his tongue. "-tt-"

They were waiting for Mozzie? "Why?"

"We tracked him back to that place."

Neal raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Stephanie thought that maybe he could help us find you, our brother," the young man grumbled. "Those with criminal connections are good at finding people."

"Uh-huh," Neal stated. "One problem with that. I'm Neal Caffrey."

"Is that name meant to mean something?" the young man questioned in an arrogant tone. "Stop playing games, Grayson."

Neal stiffened. Damian still sounded how he remembered, even though the kid's voice had deepened to more like his father's. It was a shock to his chest. Being stubborn, he refused to respond.

"We... uh, we checked your finger prints," Steph said. He glared at her because he knew that couldn't be possible. There was no data on Dick Grayson.

"As soon as father realised what you had done, he had almost the whole manner dusted for your fingerprints. He realised he needed some way to identify you if we found you." After a pause, Damian added, "we also have strands of your hair and DNA."

"That isn't creepy at all," Dick commented sarcastically with a sigh. He pulled at his restraints but Damian had bound him well. "Well, you found me. Let me go?"

"No," Damian responded flatly.

"We don't know if you'll run," Steph said. "And we're not going to give you the chance. Not until we've talked." Dick narrowed his eyes. She was right. He had already plotted several ways out of here.

There was a strange niggling in his chest. Dick tried to ignore it by refusing to speak.

Steph and Damian shared a look as if they didn't know what to do next. Silence dominated the room.

Dick remembered this. In the past, he was the one who filled the awkward silences. Instinct still tugged at him. Ignored it.

* * *

 

"Aren't you going to ask how we found you?" Steph questioned.

"No."

"Are you going to ask anything?"

"Why would I?"

Steph looked over at Damian, silently asking him to say something. Damian had a frown on his face, not an angry one or a sad one or even the frustrated one he had a lot as a kid. It was more of a thoughtful frown and made less lines in his face.

"It was Starfire. I believe there was some event? Fashion Week?"

Dick nodded. He missed out on a lot of fashion week as he and Peter had been bogged down in a case involving information smuggling and a dress.

"And some model friends brought her out to this party-" Dick felt the dread crawl up his spine. He knew what party this was. It was the one he convinced the FBI to hold in order to attract their target out into the open so they could get a positive ID from their witness. "And she swore she saw you."

"Of course, we decided to look into it," Steph said, "because we never did give up searching for you."

Dick blinked. "Why? Why didn't you give up?" The niggling feeling twisted greatly in his chest. "I left!" he bellowed. Still shouting, he added, "I made sure there was no way to find me! No way back for me! I didn't trust myself to be strong enough to stay away!" He took a gasping breath to fill his lungs. It had taken so much to take just those first few steps away. Taken so much to stay away and he only managed it because Dick Grayson didn't exist anymore. He had built a life for himself from the ground up. "Why now? Why couldn't you just forget about me?"

"Did you forget about us?" Steph asked in the silence that followed. Damian's mouth had dropped open in the wake of Dick's outburst.

Dick was furious now. The twisting feeling had heated up into anger and frustration. He said the first thing which popped into his mind, which he felt was true.

"You forgot about me first," he growled. He knew he would maybe regret it when he calmed down, but he couldn't help it. He was tired and it had been a long day of kidnappings, making him frustrated and angry. Plus, he was feeling betrayed because Kori; Starfire, hadn't tracked him down or forgotten about whatever she had seen. No, she had gossiped to his family instead.

He had found through dumb luck. That really burned.

They both recoiled as if he had slapped them. Dick didn't lower his gaze.

"I didn't forget about you," Damian said. His voice breaking again as teenage voices do. Dick stared. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. "I didn't. I never would. Please," the word cut at him, even through his anger and frustration and the ringing of 'get out of here' playing on repeat in his head. Damian rarely pleaded. "Talk to us."

"I tried," Dick reminded them. "I tried over and over and over to talk to you. Any of you! Sometimes it felt like I was letting you all hurl abuse at me just because it meant you were talking to me." After a pause, he added, "it took me a while to realise that was a problem."

"Oh come on," Steph huffed. "That's not true."

"When was the last time we spoke?" Dick asked her. She paused.

"It was a while ago," she responded hesitantly. She frowned at Dick's expression. "Come on! How am I supposed to remember when you ran away shortly after?"

"A few weeks before I ran away. That was the last time we spoke," Dick corrected. "I invited you to a movie night. Honestly, your response was the nicest, being 'it sounds like fun' and how you were going to bring Cass with you." Even though Cass was his sister and had been invited as well. "You didn't tell me when you decided to cancel, I had to hear that from Cass that you decided to help her out."

"What do you mean, my response was the nicest?" Steph questioned.

"Tim 'um'ed and 'ah'ed and said that maybe, but he might be spending time with the Teen Titans instead. Jason laughed. We fought. The usual," Dick listed off. "Damian," he said with a pointed look at the teenager in question. "Commented that there were better ways he could spend his time. Although, I really thought if anyone would follow through and turn up in spite of their sharp words, it would be you."

"It was just a movie night." Damian tried to sound like he didn't care but his voice wavered and Dick wondered if he missed such nights. But such thinking was part of the problem. He tried so hard to make sure everyone had 'normal' things in their lives that he didn't even notice his own crumbling around him.

"Was it?" Dick countered, the question hanging in the air.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Okay, so this chapter was a little late. There was a wedding reception I had been invited too plus I'm kind of lazy right now, so I lost a day's worth of typing. Anyway, here's the next chapter :)

 

Damian had to admit, he didn't know. It felt like the movie night had meant something more but had no idea what. Dick sighed. The energy drained out of him. He didn't want this. He didn't want Damian looking pink in the face, like he wanted to curl up and hide and Steph biting her lip, worrying at it with her teeth.

He wanted to be back at June's.

"Untie me," he ordered. "I can't go anywhere anyway, I owe the FBI three to four more years."

"You sign on for some program or something?" Steph asked.

"Or something," Dick responded. Let them wonder. Honestly, he was surprised they hadn't googled 'Neal Caffrey' while they had been talking. He couldn't guess how they would react to his current career but there was no point in hiding it when they could figure it out easily.

They thought about it, walking away to discuss it. Damian looked like he was okay with letting Dick go while Steph argued that they should try to get more answers.

"We could always get the little guy if he vanishes again," Damian pointed out.

Dick refrained from saying that, after this, they would have a better chance of finding him than Mozzie. Steph hesitated so perhaps she guessed that.

"Look, you can hang around me," Dick finally said. "But sometimes I might need your help."

"Help with what?" Steph asked in an interested tone. She moved closer to him, eyes bright.

Neal explained that there was someone after a music box for some reason and they thought he had it.

"Everything would be fine, except they're threatening my friends."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Cowards," he commented in a low growl.

"Sure," Steph responded in a bright voice. She cut the ropes and Dick stood up, rubbing his wrists. They were red and marked where he had been tied. At least this was evidence that he had been kidnapped. He felt his hair. It was out of place. He undid and couple of buttons and crumbled his shirt.

"Now all I need to do is convince the FBI that I was kidnapped," he commented.

Steph and Damian shared another look. Then they grinned.

Why did that give him a sinking feeling?

* * *

Neal hit the ground hard but rolled with the motion to keep from being seriously injured. He could still feel Steph's hands on his sides and wondered if it was just him or if she had enjoyed shoving him out of the nondescript white van.

"Neal!" Jones helped him to his feet and pulled out a knife to cut him free. Damian had bound his hands for the trip back to the FBI at his request.

"I'm fine," Neal choked out. Panic was surging in him as it started to sink in. His two worlds had collided and he had no idea what that meant for the future.

"You're not," Jones said. He gave a sympathetic hiss when he saw the rope burns on his wrists. "I'm calling Peter."

"Do you have to?" Neal said in a slight whine, trying to act normal.

Jones gave him a look that basically said it was both their heads if they tried to hide this from Peter. Neal sighed and followed the agent into the FBI building. Agents bustled around. Peter and Mozzie were standing in the middle of the room, talking. Neal blinked but that image didn't vanish. Peter and Mozzie. In the FBI. Talking. Peter was almost interrogating Mozzie on who might have taken Neal but they were still talking. Otherwise Mozzie would have left.

"Boss," Jones said, clearing his throat for attention.

Neal was shielding himself partly behind the agent. He had noticed the noise of the office dim and fade away as agents realised he was standing there.

"Neal!" Mozzie said. He rushed over the moment he spotted him. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Are there any strange scars or other evidence or alien abduction?"

"I wasn't taken by aliens, Moz."

"Feds then."

"We had nothing to do with Neal's disappearance," Jones commented in a tired tone, as if this was not the first time he had told Mozzie this.

Neal knew Mozzie's ramblings for what they were. He had been worried and didn't know what had happened.

"Neal, what happened?" Peter asked. "Your anklet was cut and when we reached Junes' there was an umbrella on the ground in the middle of the room, right next to your discarded anklet."

Neal winced. Rookie mistake from Damian and Steph. They should have put that back so no one realised anything was off.

"I was kidnapped. Again," he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. "They wanted to know about... someone I associate with. Someone in this room." The way he phrased it, Peter would assume it was Mozzie and Mozzie would assume the FBI. He saw the glance Peter sent Mozzie's way.

"That's what Peter thought," Diana commented as she brought over a new anklet. "Especially since we just caught Wilkes."

"I was worried he had set up some kind revenge scheme against you in case he was arrested," Peter commented. "Are you certain you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Neal repeated as he strapped the new anklet on. "Thanks for not thinking I ran or something."

"There's no reason to," Peter said nonchalantly. "Right?" He was digging for information.

Two could play that game. Neal didn't want Peter realising there was more to this. "Right."

* * *

Peter and the team did question him on where he had been. Neal gave them all the prepared responses and yawned when it started getting 'late'. Mozzie was the one to drag him home, since he was there. Had he not been, Peter may have succeeded in his 'bring Neal home so El and I can feed him' plan.

Mozzie had brought his taxi. The moment he was in the seat, he switched the meter on.

"Really, Moz?"

"You owe me, man," Mozzie responded. "I spent the evening with the Suit after I returned to Junes' to find the place swarming with Feds. By the way, the Suit had to really push to get people to believe you hadn't run."

"Really?" Neal questioned.

"They wanted to write you off as running but I convinced them otherwise."

Neal laughed. It was nice to realise that Peter, for some reason, believed he hadn't run. Although, Mozzie appearing would have cemented that belief for the agent. Neal wouldn't run without letting Mozzie know.

"So, what happened?"

Neal instantly stopped laughing. The cab was silent while he thought about whether to answer that question or not. At the very least, he couldn't put Mozzie in unknown danger.

"You know those two 'teens' who called you in to help look for their brother?"

"I have an eidetic memory, Neal. Of course I remember."

"They're the ones who took me."

Mozzie, always a careful driver, instantly pulled the car out of traffic and into the nearest parking spot. The brakes squealed and Neal's heart jolted into overtime. Neal's good control over himself was the only reason he wasn't yelling at Moz over the fright.

Cab parked and off, Mozzie unbuckled his seat belt and turned back to stare at Neal.

"Those kids did what?" he questioned in a dark tone. Visions of Steph's and Damian's lives going wrong in a way which could be described as bad luck but getting progressively worse until their lives stood in ruins flashed across Neal's mind. They didn't deserve Mozzie's brand of revenge.

Neal licked his lips and eyed the doors. Escaping wouldn't help anyone.

"They didn't mean anything by it, Moz," he said.

"Really? Explain why they would kidnap you and then dump you on the steps of the FBI?"

"I can't. Just, promise me you'll leave them alone. Don't help with their request, don't interact with them and certainly don't put them on your list."

"...can you give me a reason?"

Neal shook his head. "Just, promise me. I've just been kidnapped twice in one day and it's, ugh, I have no idea what time it is or how long I was gone. Give me this one thing, please."

Mozzie sighed. He slipped back into the driver's seat and started the cab. "I make no promises. But, since you insist, I'll leave those two alone for now."

"Thanks, Moz," Neal sighed with relief. He slipped down against the door, tired and boneless. Neal drifted off to sleep, only to be woken by Moz requesting the cab fare as they pulled up in front of Junes'.


	19. Chapter 19

Deep into the night, Neal opened his eyes to be greeted by a face blocking his vision. Perched on the headboard of his bed and leaning over creepily was Damian.

"Go away," Neal grumbled, throwing an arm over his eyes and rolling onto his side.

"Come on. Since when do you sleep through crime time?"

"Since I got a 9 to 5 job."

"Take a sick day."

Neal sighed and rolled back. He stared up at Damian.

"Can't. Peter will realise and pick me up anyway."

"World's greatest conman and you can't even con an FBI agent?" Damian questioned.

"You looked me up?"

"Of course. After we dropped you off on the FBI doorstep, we did our research. You made a deal to get out of prison, somehow landed this place and solve crimes way beneath your pay grade." Damian jumped off the headboard and onto the ground, landing with all the grace he possessed. "So, who framed you?"

"What makes you think I was framed?" Neal questioned with a lazy grin. "Or that I want to discuss this now, when I'd rather be sleeping?"

Damian looked confused. Neal took advantage of that and tossed his second pillow at the teenager.

"Take the couch. We'll talk in the morning or after I finish work tomorrow. Not now."

"Richard-"

Neal rolled over. "Go to sleep," he ordered before doing the same himself.

* * *

Neal yawned and stretched and curled up under the blankets before waking up. There was still a teenager asleep on his couch. It had not been a dream.

Neal still didn't know what to make of his siblings' interruption to his life. He contemplated as he made breakfast and coffee. They didn't seem interested in outing him to the FBI but, at the same time, they were still present. It was only a matter of time before they brought trouble with them.

Neal sighed into his coffee. Thinking badly of his siblings was frustrating. He was supposed to like them. They had been united in goal and circumstance. He knew their bad points and their good points. They were such a giving group. But, because they gave so much, they were often in harm's way and often attracted those who meant harm. Neal himself had pulled people into danger just by being around them; now and in the past.

"Richard?" Damian pulled up the seat across from him with his own cup of coffee. Ernest eyes stared at him, taking in every detail.

Neal hummed acknowledgement.

Damian looked to the ground and then back to his face. "Are you not interested in coming back to Gotham with us?"

Neal sighed. "I don't intend to return to Gotham. Neal Caffrey belongs in New York. Perhaps even with the FBI. It's interesting."

"Interesting? Is that all?"

Neal shrugged. "I do owe them a couple more years. See what I think at the end of it."

"Can't you just cut the anklet and run?" And there it was. The simple answer Neal refused to entertain.

"That means burning Neal Caffrey. His friends, his acquaintances, everything. I'm not ready to do that. I don't think I ever will be."

They ate the rest of breakfast in silence. When Peter arrived, Neal grabbed his hat and flipped it onto his head. His luck seemed to have kicked in because Peter didn't come up.

"Be good," he told Damian.

* * *

Making sure he came in with a grin and a bit of swagger to his step kept most of the agents from treating him like something fragile. Neal had been kidnapped, twice in one day, but he was fine.

"I don't think Mozzie's going to come back," Neal pointed out to Peter when the agent called him into his office. "I'm sure he took somewhere around five showers last night."

"That's less than I expected," Peter commented. "Hopefully he doesn't waste any of my hot water."

Neal tilted his head. Mozzie had showered at Junes', not Peter's.

"Ever since he cleaned the house of bugs, he and El have 'hang out' lunches and things," Peter said. "She was planning one today in our backyard. Something about testing a new caterer."

Better Mozzie than him, Neal thought. While he enjoyed the nice food, testing dishes was a hit and miss. Sometimes they were great and sometimes Neal wanted to throw up, curl up and cry. He had been spoiled growing up. Alfred never messed up anything served to anyone.

"Neal," Peter said. Neal waited for him to continue. He seemed to change his mind, reaching for a file and tossing it to him instead. "See if you can solve this embezzlement scam."

Neal raised an eyebrow but took the file anyway. He could solve this by lunch, he was certain of it.

* * *

It was a lapping scheme. Neal illustrated how it worked by sipping from Hughes' coffee.

"Now I have a problem," he commented with a grin, holding out the cup.

"Hughes is gonna toss your butt back into prison," Peter commented, playing along.

"Right." Neal took Peter's cup and poured some from there to Hughes', hiding how he had taken some.

"I keep going as long as I can." Those words seemed to apply to his own life right now. "In the end, I got a full cup. No one is the wiser."

"Until I catch you."

Neal's grin wavered for a moment. Would Peter catch him? Not that there was anything to catch him at. Yet, the idea made his stomach feel like it was in free-fall. Case solved, he wove a story about June holding a champagne lunch, and left for the day.

Instead of a champagne lunch, Neal was meeting with Alex. Mozzie had been watching over Mrs. Suit and he had detected someone watching the Burkes. Neal wasn't going to let anyone hurt them because of him.

He needed that box.

Alex had found it. She agreed to meet him at a private pool. She was lounging around in a bikini with a pale orange drink in her hand. The sun was shining through the glass ceiling, warming the air.

"You lead a busy life, Caffrey," Alex commented when she spotted him. "You're not going to be a liability?"

"Where's the box, Alex?" he demanded to know, ignoring the sting of her words and that he couldn't answer with a positive.

"Sit down," she said, petting the lounge chair next to her. "We'll chat."

He dropped onto the side, sitting like it was a normal chair.

"Try this on," she said with a calculated smile as she passed him a pair of swimming trunks.

"No thanks. I don't plan to stay long."

"Never stopped you before," she commented. After a pause, she added, "I know about the anklet. What I don't know is if you're wired."

Neal rolled his eyes and changed. He frowned at her as he sat down again, motioning up and down his bare chest.

"There. No wires."

She tilted her head and swam closer. "You seem short with me today. Where's the Caffrey charm?"

"Where's the trust?" Neal countered. Alex laughed at that.

"I want to make sure you're not going after that box without me. We get it together, remember?"

"So you don't trust me to not go off and steal it myself?"

"You've done the impossible before Neal," Alex commented. "The bonds for example." She grinned and laughed. "Although you might find this difficult by yourself. It's in the Italian Consulate, tucked away in a private safe and marked for the Consul General. He's flying in next month to pick it up."

"A consulate?" That was a tricky target.

Alex grinned and took a sip of her drink before announcing playfully, "they're having a party next week. It's our chance to get inside."


	20. Chapter 20

"Oh great," Mozzie huffed when Neal told him where the music box was. "An international incident. I'm not going to spend the rest of my days in an underground prison with cockroaches as pets."

Neal rolled his eyes. He wouldn't let it get that far, after all, he could arrange an escape easily enough. "It's the Italians, Moz."

"They do prison just fine," Moz grumbled, saying something about Galileo before asking if they needed Alex.

"She won't tell me which safe the music box is in."

"Smart."

"Yeah."

"Too bad the Suit isn't going to let you off the leash anytime soon. Also," Mozzie looked around at the tables and people. None of them seemed to be listening to the conversation between the two men sitting away from the window in the booth at the back. The employees were avoiding them as Neal had said something to them before sitting down. "Why couldn't we have this at your place?"

"This is safer," Neal stated in a tone which begged no questions.

Mozzie sighed. He pulled out a photo. It was of Neal's apartment and the sulky teenager reading a book on Warrant Law sitting on his couch. "Why is he at your place?" Mozzie's eyes glanced at Neal. "And why do you worry your lip like that whenever he appears or is mentioned?"

Neal blinked. _What?_ He was biting lightly on his lip, running his teeth along it in an attempt to stay calm. The storm of emotions in his gut made him feel like punching something, crying, curling up into a ball and throw up. They weren't good feelings but there were enough of them that he was able to stall a proper emotional response as they all fought to be the dominate feeling.

"Neal. I have the best methods and resources and I couldn't find anything about your life before Neal Caffrey."

"Neal Caffrey is the only name I really have," Neal said. "The rest are aliases."

"What about your name before Neal?"

Neal shook his head. "Don't have one." Officially.

"Dick Grayson."

Neal couldn't hide his flinch at the name, not from someone like Mozzie, trained to catch the slightest tell.

"Lie to me and the music box will be the last thing we do together."

Neal swallowed. Mozzie was his friend. He hadn't left when Neal decided to help the FBI. He had even helped the FBI find him when his siblings kidnapped him. Neal reminded himself of this in an attempt to speak the truth. He could bring himself to ask a question. "How?"

"It's what I do," Mozzie responded with a shrug. "So, Dick Grayson, huh? I can't find out exactly who he was."

"That was the plan," Dick pointed out. He waved over a waitress and placed an order. "If we're going to talk about this, I'm having pancakes."

"In the evening?" Mozzie questioned.

Neal raised an eyebrow, raising the silent question of which of them was giving into public opinion now. He needed the sweet, fluffy goodness.

* * *

Neal told Mozzie a little about why he left. Putting it into words for the first time was difficult. He felt like they were getting caught in his throat. It was easy enough to tell Mozzie where the name 'Neal Caffrey' came from. Mozzie commented that the 'carefree' part suited him.

Telling Mozzie about leaving was difficult. It felt like he was saying he had left because no one was paying him any attention. But it was more than that.

"It's okay," Mozzie suddenly said when Neal stammered over his excuses. "There are many reasons we might leave someone, or a lot of someones, behind. You did what you could."

"Doesn't feel like it," Neal muttered. What had there been for him to do? It hadn't been like fighting a criminal. He hadn't the slightest idea of how he could bring it up now. Besides, he could already guess his family's reactions. They would probably think he was being overly sensitive and emotional. "Family is meant to keep trying, isn't it?"

Mozzie thought about it. Plates and glasses clattered while the people around them moved about and chattered.

"I don't know, _mon frère_ ," Mozzie finally said. "I have only seen families from the outside."

Mozzie had been raised in an orphanage. Unlike Dick, he hadn't met his parents. He hadn't been adopted, only fostered. Which hadn't ended well.

Yet, he called Neal 'my brother'. In French, but he knew that Neal spoke French.

"You know I speak French, right?" Neal questioned. There was a warm bubbly feeling in his chest and his mouth extended up when Mozzie didn't instantly say it wasn't like that or that he meant nothing by it.

Mozzie just shrugged and opened up a notebook to plan their heist in. "I guessed you did," he commented.

* * *

Exactly as Peter suspected, Neal was able to get out of the anklet at any time. He could break out of it easily just by hacking it. Neal did wonder if he should invest in the key sometime soon but it wasn't an issue right now.

After all, they suspected Fowler behind this. He had caused problems for them and Mozzie was able to sniff out that the people watching El were highly trained OPR. Mozzie had a skill at locating feds and then identifying them.

All Neal had to do was arrange a meeting with Fowler. He called the man's office and gave a time and place. The square looking agent appeared at the time with a younger and lankier agent following behind.

"Fowler. Oh." The agent started patting him down. "You brought a friend. I'm not wired."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

The agent announced he was clean and moved back to Fowler's side.

"This better be good," Fowler said.

Neal told him that he was close to the music box and but was restricted from getting it by the anklet.

"Supposed to mean something to me?"

"Well, you flew in from DC," Neal commented. He was ecstatic about that. Fowler has just proved his and Mozzie's suspicions. "So I think it does."

They played their game of back and forth, Fowler pretending that he didn't have the slightest inclination of doing anything illegal and Neal referring to him as an 'upstanding federal agent'.

"You know Caffrey," Fowler commented as Neal stepped away. "I wonder how much distance you'll want between you and your associates after this."

* * *

"Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all!" Mozzie said ironically as he threw his hands into the air.

Neal just shook his head fondly as he spread out a drawn up floor plan of the consulate.

"Neal, what are you doing? It's not a bank or a museum. We need a tank or an air force."

"We don't have an air force," Neal commented. "Besides, the party gets us past the wall into the main ballroom. Then we only have to get through a security door to get where the box is being kept."

"The only way through is to be buzzed in by a guard," Mozzie mused.

"I can take care of that."

"Grand."

"There's a hallway with a closed-circuit camera which leads to our vault room. So, which vault are we looking at?" Neal glanced over at Alex, who was standing on the other side of the table. She had a glass of wine in her hands and seemed amused at watching them plan.

"I'll let you know." She did tell them that the safe was fire-resistant and high security at least. They started arranging how they would get into the party. Mozzie had submitted an application to the caterer, Neal was going to make a generous 'donation' to get in and Alex was looking for a single gentleman who wanted a plus one.

June knocked on the door while they were planning.

"Neal, you have company."

Peter walked in after her. He smiled when he saw them, as if he was confirming something he already knew. But Neal could see the tension in his mouth and body. He was not as happy as he acted.

"Oh, look at this. All the usual suspects in one place. What are you kids up to?"

"Leaving," Alex said, making her way out the door with Mozzie in tow. Peter watched them go before turning to Neal.

He knew Neal had met with Fowler. Neal had checked the place out before the meeting, his movements tracked by the anklet and tipping Peter off. Peter knew that Neal had gathered Alex and Mozzie as his crew to steal the music box. What he didn't get was why.

With a solemn air, Neal pulled out the photos and threats he had been sent and placed them in front of Peter. The agent paled and dropped into a seat at the sight of his wife.

"I wanted to keep you out of it. But, if I don't get the music box-"

"They'll go after El," Peter said dully as he processed it. "Who's behind this?"

"I think you can guess."

"Fowler." Peter looked over to Neal. "It's a bad idea to go through with this, Neal. You're giving him what he wants."

"I know," Neal admitted. "But I can't take the risk."

Peter sighed and stood up. His hands gripped the table tightly, keeping his anger in check. He knew the stakes now.

"He won't get away with this. I have something in play," Peter admitted. "In fact, it was El's advice that led to me doing it."

Neal gave him a curious look, wondering what exactly Peter was doing that he thought would outclass Fowler. However, Peter refused to tell him.

"You do what you do and I'll do what I do," he said before leaving.


	21. Chapter 21

Fowler made good on his threat. Neal hadn't seen it coming. Through Jones, he learnt that Fowler had stormed El's office, executing a warrant and claiming that she was illegally importing goods. El called Peter for help but it ended with Peter hitting Fowler. Fowler placed Peter on suspension, taking the FBI agent off the board or so Fowler believed.

Neal couldn't blame Peter. He wanted to hit the agent as well.

Fowler had come through with his anklet, the light going off and Jones reporting that Neal's GPS showed him at home. Peter seemed to believe he could use to bring Fowler down. Suspension or no suspension.

* * *

Neal thought happy thoughts so he could smile at the din of the party around him. This was an exciting chance. He was looking forward to the act he was going to pull tonight. His invitation had been attained by giving them a statue; although the Italian's didn't realise it was a forgery with a little something extra. The consul general couldn't ignore such a piece and had it moved to his office, exactly as Neal hoped. Alex was walking around with a smile on her face and with a Duke sometimes wrapped around her arm. She bumped into a guy and, even watching, Neal barely caught her lift of the man's security card.

"Nice lift," he commented as Mozzie brought them a couple of drinks on a tray.

"This'll get you through the security doors," Alex said, passing him the card.

"So, which safe is it?" Neal asked.

Alex finally told him and they were ready to get this done.

Neal held up his glass and got everyone's attention. He gave a speech about the people throwing the party and then dropped a bombshell on them.

"I'm an internationally renowned art thief. And tonight, I'm here to rob you." He held his glass up in salute. "Cheers!"

There were confused ramblings all around him as he was ushered away and the guests told he was drunk. Neal was shoved through the first security door and buzzed through the second before being shoved into the consul general's room.

They were 'questioning' him when the alarm went off. Neal grinned as they ran off, locking him in. Like a lock could stop him.

Mozzie's and Alex's distraction had gone off without a hitch. The smoke bombs had made sure Neal was left alone so he could get to the safe. Neal used the statue's hammer to break it apart and pull out the bag of safe cracking supplies he had encased within it. He then made short work of the safe.

Inside was the music box. He still didn't get why it was worth all the trouble Fowler was going to.

"Hurry up, Neal!" Mozzie called from outside. He was holding a camera up in front of the security feed, tricking them into seeing the same uneventful image of the hallway.

Neal put the box in a bag and dashed outside.

"Neal, did you get it?" Alex asked from the other door. She left herself in and walked over to Neal.

"It's not over yet," Neal reminded her. She smiled at him.

"Very touching guys but hurry!" Mozzie called from behind the security door. "They're coming!"

They could hear security coming down the stairs. Neal motioned for Mozzie to wait and turned to see Alex making off with the bag containing their loot.

"Alex? Alex!" She was making off with the music box!

"Neal!" Mozzie cried out. Between chasing Alex and getting the music box back and leaving Mozzie to be caught, Neal would choose Mozzie every time. He opened the door from the inside and just as Mozzie squeezed through, the guards appeared.

They started to run. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh sounded behind them.

"What the?" Mozzie questioned, turning back. Neal had done the same, mouth dropping open.

Standing in the middle of the knocked out guards was Damian Wayne in a guard uniform.

"What?" Damian questioned with a shrug. "Someone needs to keep your two fools out of trouble."

Neal's gut churned. "You followed us?"

"Neal, not now," Mozzie interrupted. Neal sighed but followed Mozzie. They took the planned route out of the consulate but didn't run into Alex.

"She must have taken another route," Neal suggested.

"It'll be fine," Damian said. "Stephanie has eyes on her."

Neal resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What are you doing here, Damian?"

"I already said. I'm here to keep you fools out of trouble."

"And what trouble did you see?"

"Obviously, you are trusting the wrong people. The bald guy is okay-" Mozzie muttered a sarcastic 'thanks', "but the woman was unworthy of your trust."

"She's the only one who knew where the music box was," Neal pointed out. "We had to work with her if we wanted to find it."

"And how's that working out for you?" Damian prodded.

"Who cares?" Mozzie said. "It's not like you caught her."

Damian grinned. "Wanna bet?"

* * *

When they opened the door to Neal's apartment, the first thing they noticed was golden hair brushed over a golden music box. A soft tune played, making the air heavy.

"What is she doing?" Mozzie huffed. "Neal, why are they here?"

"Could ask you the same thing," Steph commented cheerily as she stopped the music box. She waved around what looked like a small golden cherub figure. "But we're all on the same side."

"For now," Neal added. "I need the music box."

"You can't have it until Alex is done."

"I'm done," Alex announced, pushing the box over to Steph. She had a frown on her face and was resting her head against one arm. She sounded annoyed.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "It's that easy?" he questioned.

She nodded. Mozzie huffed in a way which said he didn't believe her.

"Not completely easy," Steph pointed out. "And very interesting."

"Maybe for you. I've spent my whole life searching for this thing," Alex waved a hand over the music box. "And I don't understand it. So close and yet so far."

"Understand what?" Neal and Damian asked in unison. Neal frowned but Damian walked towards the music box. "Did you break it, Stephanie?"

First names. Neal realised in that moment. Damian, who used to use surnames as much as he could, had only been using first names for him and Steph.

"I did not!" Steph said with a pout. She crossed her arms. "It's the way it works."

Mozzie glanced to Neal and he realised he would have to ask the questions for his paranoid friend.

"Way what works?" he asked.

"The music box," Steph responded joyfully. "It's more than just a music box." She banished the cherub piece and slipped it into a small hole on the top. It stood there just like the three on the other corners. "Alex had this by the way."

"Okay?" Neal shot Alex a sideways glance as Steph turned the cherub key. There was a small click and the top popped up.

Mozzie popped up next to Steph, causing Damian to jump back.

"It's a secret compartment with a secret comb," Mozzie said, carefully extracting the comb in question.

"But it doesn't do anything that makes sense," Alex sighed.

"Do you want to leave then?" Neal said.

Alex frowned at him. "I'd rather stay until they're done playing with my music box."

"' _Our_ ' music box," Mozzie reminded her as he snapped the comb in. "I'm all for cutting you out though, since you couldn't stick to the plan."

"I would have been able to get away, if she hadn't been waiting outside," Alex said, shoving a finger in Steph's direction.

"I was waiting for Damian."

"I was watching the heist," Damian finished the conversation with a shrug.

Mozzie hushed them all as he started the music box, this time with the secret comb in it. Garbled tinkling noises sounded through the room. It was discordant, nauseating and sounded nothing like music and more like a random assortment of notes.

"It sounds like someone left a baby near a xylophone, doesn't it?" Steph chirped.

Damian made a 'bleuch' sound and turned to Neal. "It's stupid. I can't believe you almost got caught by Italians over this thing."

"Fowler wants it for some reason and doesn't care who gets in the way," Neal mused. "There must be more to it."

Mozzie rubbed his hands together. "Give me a moment and I may be able to record it."

"Here," Steph said, pulling a laptop out of the bad sitting by her chair. She placed it on the table. "Use this. We brought it for Neal."

Neal hadn't heard anything about that! "I don't want it."

"Waynetech? I'll stick to my Russian surplus. Neal, how long to I have?"

"I meet Fowler tonight. At best, a couple of hours."

"Long enough. I'm going to record this. It's a code."

"It's not Morse, or at least, not simply Morse code," Steph added.

"You know Morse?" Mozzie questioned.

"We all do," Steph said, doing a motion which included Damian and Neal.

"I don't," Alex said. She leaned closer to the music box. "Do you really think you can solve it?"

"Sure!" Steph said confidently and with a smile. "It seems like fun."

"Great," Damian said in a dull tone.


	22. Chapter 22

Neal held out the box and gave it to Fowler.

"I want assurances. You'll leave El, Peter and everyone else alone."

Fowler was unimpressed. He huffed and handed over an envelope. Neal opened it and pulled it out. The first thing he noticed was a flight. For him. But not him.

"What?"

"A little something to show there's no hard feelings. We get the box. You disappear. Legally," Fowler said.

"Is that a threat?" Neal questioned.

Fowler snorted. "No." He seemed amused by Neal's confusion. "It seems your past has caught up with you. We're offering you a way to run."

Neal tried to hand the file back, a little disturbed at how they knew that. However, Fowler told him to keep it in case he changed his mind.

"Fine. What's so important about that box?" Neal asked as Fowler made to leave.

"It's above my pay grade."

* * *

Neal started back towards June's with a heavy heart. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Damian or Steph, but probably just Damian, back at his apartment. He missed having time alone to paint. He missed being able to go anywhere, try anything. He missed just being able to breathe.

He sighed and, as if on cue, there was a furious curse from behind him. Neal immediately catalogued everyone around him. Included was the man he just passed, a man in a leather jacket and pants with combat boots. He hadn't aged much since the last time Neal saw him.

"You-" Jason said. Next Neal knew, he was on the ground, groaning just able to be heard over the ringing in his ears. "You're why they're hanging around here, aren't you?"

Neal shook his head, trying to clear it. Jason had punched him. His eldest little brother had found him. And punched him. He scrambled to his feet while Jason's furious yelling sounded all around him.

Neal ran.

* * *

A message, left on a burner phone: "Mozzie, I can't- I can't stay. I'm sorry. Goodbye."

Another phone was sent in flowers to Elizabeth, who had been momentarily arrested and with her business now on the rocks. Neal was on his way to the scheduled flight when the phone he had bought for this purpose went off.

"Neal? What is this?" She sounded about as surprised as anyone would be when receiving flowers for what appeared to be no reason.

Neal explained that he had a friend who owed him a favour at the Channing Museum. As a gift to her, he had cashed in that favour to get them to hire Burke Premier Events to do their annual Masters Retrospective. It was an impossible to get account. They both knew the opportunity would fix the negative press and lost sales from Fowler's temporary forced shutdown of El's business.

He bid her goodbye and she responded with, "I'll talk to you later."

Neal tossed the phone into the nearest bin with a heavy heart. While she sounded hesitant, he knew she did expect to be able to talk to him later. Just another thing Neal would leave behind.

* * *

Neal found the airstrip easily. The plane was already there, engines warming up. He had a limited window to get inside.

"Neal!"

Peter!

He froze at the sound of the agent's voice and turned.

"Are you here to arrest me?" he asked. After all, this was far outside his radius.

"I'm still a civilian. And I know about the deal Fowler made with you." Peter walked closer and froze. "What happened to your face?"

Neal reached up and touched around his face, wincing as it stung. It had been aching but he hadn't expected any visible signs yet. Apparently he was being too hopeful.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Neal. If someone hurt you-"

"Remember how you asked if was running?" Peter nodded and Neal smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, it was a smile filled with people left behind and broken promises. "I wasn't at that point. But this," Neal pointed back at the plane. "This is running."

"Neal, why? If you're worried about someone coming after you-"

Neal held up a hand. "Let me stop you there. You can't protect me, Peter. Not from what I'm running from."

"Fine," Peter huffed. "Then answer me this; you said goodbye to El and to Mozzie." Neal was surprised and happy. Happy that Mozzie had received his message and surprised that he had told Peter about it. "Why didn't you say anything to me?"

Neal smiled and was suddenly hit with how different this was. Instead of cold and dark night, this was a bright and sunny day. It wasn't because of people in his life that he was leaving, in fact, part of him wanted to stay. It showed in how he said goodbyes instead of leaving without a word.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "You're the only one who can change my mind."

"Then let me," Peter said. "Listen when I tell you that whatever this is, it isn't the answer. But right here. You have people who care about you. You make a difference."

"Peter." This time, Neal had Peter. Someone willing to remind him that they cared. That he was wanted and his actions weren't for naught.

* * *

The news hit small radio stations and TV stations. There was an internet article or two but Peter didn't go looking. They should have expected something like this. It wasn't simple when Fowler got involved.

The plane the OPR agent had provided for Neal went up in flames fifteen minutes into it's flight. There had been a bomb on board.

Peter answered question after question from the FBI about Fowler and Neal's involvement. While he knew that he hadn't given the answers the panel wanted to hear, he was reinstated. He regained his badge and office. Which Neal thought was quite neat after he had gone through and cleaned it up.

Peter reached for a pen, usually kept in a cup with the rest. The cup was gone. The pen was gone.

"Top drawer," Neal said as he looked over a forged ID and wrote a report on the equipment needed to make a fake like this and how to identify it.

Peter shot him a frustrated look as he opened the drawer. Neal could hear the shocked breath he made when he spotted the organiser slipped into the drawer, the same kind used for cutlery. It just separated pencils from pens and paperclips from pins instead of knives and forks and spoons.

"Really?" Peter commented. "I guess I don't need to ask what you were up to while I was still on suspension."

"Hiding out in your office," Neal informed him anyway, in an ' _isn't it obvious_ ' tone. When Peter raised an eyebrow, Neal pointed to his eye. "People kept making jokes. Or asking if it hurt and if I needed anything." Neal kind of preferred the jokes. Jones was good at coming up with a lot of one-liners which made him laugh. Neal knew how bad the bruise had looked. It had blossomed into lovely shades of purple, yellow, red and navy. Neal was shocked that his eye hadn't swollen shut.

Currently, it had faded to dark shading Neal covered up with a little concealer. The jokes had died off and, thankfully, so had the concern.

Just like he did every time someone brought up Neal's bruise, Peter commented, "and I guess you're still not going to tell me who did that to you?"

Neal nodded. "It's fine."

"Not when you were about to run."

Neal shrugged. He had freaked out a little. However, in the time which had passed, he hadn't seen Jason again. Strangely enough, Damian and Steph had also vanished. It was like life had returned to what it had been like before they found him. Neal was only slightly ashamed that he was enjoying that.

"Any news on the music box?" Neal countered.

"The FBI has it," was all Peter was going to say. He thought it was out of their hands. Neal knew that Mozzie was still working on the code. It was driving the little guy up the wall but he was certain he could solve it.


	23. Chapter 23

Neal conned his way into the bank. He picked out cash from their vaults and walked out with it in a briefcase.

Before he could get to the drop point, aka Peter, he was shoved up against a wall. Jason sneered at him. Apparently, his disappearance from Neal's life was too good to be true. Neal sighed and was about to tell Jason to leave him alone, when the bulkier man yanked the briefcase from his hand and looked inside.

"I could assume that you got this legally," he said. "However, I saw you walk in the back in a janitor's outfit."

"Really?" Neal questioned, rolling his eyes. "Jason, you've killed people. I don't think you have any right to comment on my actions."

"Yeah, but you're the good one. B's golden boy who vanished."

"I left," Neal hissed. "And I have nothing to do with any of you." They had made that clear. Dick hadn't been worth spending time with. Not even during patrol where his skills made him an asset.

"Yeah, well, I'm returning this," Jason said, wiggling the briefcase in his hands. Neal was about to tell him to go ahead when they were surrounded by faces familiar to Neal. Peter, Jones and Diana stood around them, as well as a couple of plain clothes agents. They all had their guns out.

"Freeze or we'll shoot!" Jones ordered.

Jason's eyes widened for a moment and his whole body moved into fight mode, pulling himself to full, intimidating height. His eyes took in everything around them, including how Neal wasn't surprised.

Jason said slowly, "you're working with the Feds."

"Of course," Neal chirped cheerfully.

Instantly, Jason deflated. He tossed the briefcase over to Peter. "I guess you're in charge of this little shindig, since those agents seem to be shielding you."

"Thanks," Peter grunted. "Who are you?"

"Jason Todd." Jason even bowed a little. "Thought this guy was robbing a bank."

"You're pretty friendly with a guy who you thought was robbing a bank," Diana commented. One of the plain clothes agents looked a little shocked at Diana's description of 'friendly'.

"Yeah," Jason shrugged. "I knew him once. Seems he hasn't changed as much as I thought."

Peter hummed, "you might be surprised."

"Peter!" Neal said in a playful insulted tone. He moved around Jason.

Peter held up the briefcase. "I think I'll let Jones keep this." He passed it off. "And I hope you weren't planning to walk with it."

Neal countered, as easy as always, "no law against thinking about it." He thought he had distracted them from Jason.

"So, who are you?"

Jason sighed. "Private security for hire... or something like that. A friend of mine heard about the Architect and wanted me to make sure he didn't hit New York."

"A friend like Bruce Wayne?" Diana questioned. Jones and Peter shot her a shocked look. She frowned at him. "Jason Todd, adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. He's supposed to be 'dead' but then again, so was Mr. Wayne in his younger years."

"No. Not Bruce. However you are the first person to comment on that, agent."

"Berrigan."

"I wasn't asking but okay," Jason responded with a shrug. "How'd you know? Most people don't recognise me."

"You told her your name," Neal pointed out. Jason shot a frown back at him. "She probably recognised it."

"By pure chance," Diana confirmed.

Jason smiled, looking less hardened and younger than Neal for a moment, and shook his head. "Nah. It's smarts, not chance."

While most of the agents seemed to be looking at the interaction between Diana and Jason, Peter was staring at Neal. He was probably wondering how Neal knew someone like Jason or, perhaps he knew who Bruce Wayne was and was wondering what kind of con he pulled to get Bruce's kid running after him.

"We're taking care of the Architect," Peter said to Jason.

"Of course," Jason responded pleasantly. "I'll leave you to it. Good luck, agents." He nodded at Diana. "Agent Berrigan." He didn't leave but he did step to the side and it was enough for the rest of the agents to head off.

Neal moved to follow them.

Peter cleared his throat, bringing Neal to a stop. He held up the anklet.

"Neal."

Neal grinned at him and placed his foot on the hood of Peter's car.

"Right on the car?" Peter questioned as he did the anklet up.

"It's just a shoe," Neal said, knowing that it bothered Peter anyway since it was his 'new and shiny' car.

* * *

Jason turned up at the apartment only a few minutes after Peter dropped Neal off. In fact, Peter decided to stay. He called it his 'gut instinct'. Neal thought of it as an annoyance. How was he supposed to talk to Jason with Peter around? There were things he didn't want the agent to know.

"Is this place really yours?" was the first sentence out of Jason's mouth. Jason looked around the apartment but he didn't look particularly impressed with how well-furnished it was.

"I rent it. From June. She showed you the room?"

"Whatever you're paying her, it's not enough," Jason commented, unaware of how true his words were. "I'm surprised this place isn't swimming in clothes you were too lazy to put away."

"Most of the stuff is June's. So I keep it in order," Neal responded in a cold tone. He wasn't messy. It was just that he liked being able to spread out. It gave a place a lived in feel. The best he had been able to do with June's apartment was place his shoes by the door without putting them together and buy a couple of books he could leave lying anywhere. They were currently on the coffee table, one open to a page on modern classifications of art styles.

The frustrating thing about being a conman on the run was that Neal hadn't been able to spread out. He was constantly travelling so everything needed to stay neat and orderly so he could make a quick exit if needed.

Jason nodded, like it made perfect sense that Neal could keep everything ordered because it belonged to June. He kept glancing to Peter, who was sitting on the couch, out of the corner of his eye.

"I wanted to ask, what's with the anklet?"

Neal pulled up his pant leg and let Jason look. "It was this or prison," he said. He waited for that to process.

"Okay, so a couple of months on an anklet. When's your time up?"

"In four years," Peter answered for Neal. "Although I'm sure Neal has a calendar with the date circled on it."

"They don't make calendars that far ahead," Neal joked. "I still can't believe I got four years and I didn't even kill anyone."

"Neal," Peter huffed in the 'you should have gotten more, if only we could have proved it' way. Neal was well aware that Peter had an idea which crimes were his but there wasn't enough evidence to have Neal charged.

Jason seemed to shake out of his thoughts. "What did you do?" he questioned.

"Neal is a forger, confidence man and thief."

"Allegedly," Neal pointed out.

"We proved forgery in a court of law, Neal."

Jason held a hand to his forehead, rubbing it while he tried to process this.

"Forgery?"

"Neal forged Atlantic Incorporated bonds and is suspected in a number of other crimes. He still won't tell me how he stole the Antioch manuscripts."

"Really, Peter?" Neal questioned. Did Peter really expect Neal to just incriminate himself like that? "Allegedly, one might steal the Antioch manuscripts using carrier pigeons. But you didn't hear it from me."

Jason stared at him. He couldn't really imagine Dick stealing for sport.

"I just had to ask and you would answer?" Peter queried.

Neal shrugged. "Haven't I told you this before?"

"I didn't think you remembered," Peter mused.

"I have no idea what's going on," Jason admitted. "You're friendly with the Fed but you're also a criminal?"

"On a work release program," Neal added helpfully.

"How?"

"See I found a passion in art. Turns out I'm good at copying other's people's stuff."

Jason stared, mouth hanging open a little.

"Nope. Don't believe it."

Neal turned to Peter. "Permission to paint a forgery to prove I can?"

"No."

"I'll mark it," Neal insisted.

Peter thought about it. "Document the process and you have a deal."

Neal sighed. The FBI could use such a document to prove he created certain forgeries. However Jason had challenged him with his words and Neal didn't want to back down from the challenge.

"Can't I just turn the forgery in when I'm done?"

"Partly documented and turn it in," Peter compromised. "You can leave things out as long as you note you're omitting part of the process."

Neal agreed.

* * *

Jason remained at June's. He watched as Neal got out paints and canvas. He watched as Neal figured out his basic sketch. He watched as Neal started stroking brush to the canvas.

Being watched was slightly unnerving but Neal put it out of his mind. He found himself focused on the painting taking shape in front of him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably should have put this in the previous chapter but better late than never. Parts of these chapters are taken from the White Collar show (the Architect, Neal's bank robbery from the previous chapter), including some of the dialogue.

Neal prided himself on his speed. While most forgers would take a long time to create a piece, Neal could do it in half the time. It probably helped that he was recreating something he had painted previously. It was a piece he had seen and immediately thought of Jason. It was the title which grabbed him. _'Scene from Shakespeare's The Tempest'_ by William Hogarth. The piece was centred on Miranda who was wearing blue and white. There weren't many vibrant colours in it and Neal made note to pick up more browns.

Jason grew bored of watching him paint after the first two hours and went to shower. Upon exiting the bathroom, he picked up a book and started reading. He glanced up at Neal from time to time, although Neal barely noticed. Jason was sitting at the table behind him and he was absorbed in the art.

When he was done, he stepped away.

"It really only has to dry completely," he commented. "If I wanted a perfect forgery, I would have to cook it but," he shrugged. "It's a little late for that." He had used modern paints and canvas. Cooking it wouldn't hide that for long. "And Peter didn't want a perfect forgery anyway."

Jason looked up and swore the moment he saw the finished piece. He got up and walked over to it. He examined it closely, as close as one could get without touching. He swore again.

"When did you learn to paint?" he questioned.

"It's not so much painting as it is recreating," Neal responded. "Bruce had us doing that when we were kids."

"Yeah, but I can't paint something like this." Jason would have sounded jealous if he wasn't so impressed and also because, "I don't even think Tim or Damian could do something like this." Under his breath, he muttered, "it seems like such a waste to give it to the FBI."

"I could always paint another," Neal pointed out.

Jason stared at him out of the corner of his eyes. "I don't think I've realised just how insane you are."

Neal plastered a pleasant smile on his face. He knew it probably didn't hide the hurt but it wasn't like his family noticed.

* * *

"I guess you don't really have anywhere to put it. Should I paint one which says 'safehouse, sweet safehouse'?" Neal teased.

Jason snorted. "Who would put that on their wall?"

"Can I have one for Tuesday?" Mozzie asked, walking right in. Jason stared at him.

"Who are you?"

"Nobody of consequence. You are?"

"Neal's brother, I guess." Jason crossed his arms and glared down at the short man.

"You guess?" Mozzie turned to Neal who shrugged and nodded.

"He doesn't like considering himself part of the family."

"At least I didn't erase everything about myself. I still run around calling myself Jason Todd rather than something new. You've got to make things difficult, don't you, Dick?" He turned to Mozzie, speaking before anyone else could get a word in. "And I already know who you are, Mozzie."

"Ah. You spoke to Stephanie and her companion." Mozzie walked in. "I don't know where they are but Stephanie is keeping me up to date on her decoding of the music box tune."

"Her what?" Jason looked at Neal. "What have you gotten into?"

"No idea. Something to do with a music box and a hidden code." Neal dunked his brushes in the water sitting by the easel and moved away from the painting. Mozzie took that as his cue and walked over. He inspected the painting.

* * *

"It's not up to your usual standard," Mozzie commented. "The canvas is new and I doubt you used any tricks to make the paint date to the original."

"I didn't bother. It's going to the FBI, Moz," Neal responded. "I'd rather underplay my skills than have the FBI link this to something I did in the past by technique or something."

"What?" Jason's eyes widened as he looked over the painting. Neal and Mozzie continued their conversation, ignoring him.

"The Suit does have a way of making odd connections."

"He calls it his gut feeling."

Mozzie made a face before turning to Jason. "And why are you here?"

"Found Neal stealing from a bank."

"You robbed the Midtown Mutual already?" Mozzie gasped in a betrayed tone. "But I thought we couldn't get the uniform... the FBI got you your things, didn't they?"

"Sorry Moz."

"Did the below ground access work?"

"Perfectly."

Mozzie was pleased to hear that. He pulled some wine out from the fridge and poured himself a glass.

"Neal?" he questioned, holding up a second glass.

Neal nodded and took the glass once Mozzie filled it.

"Wine?" Jason questioned. Neal shoved another glass into Jason's hand.

"Try it and be quiet."

Mozzie's eyebrows raised. He had been called here by Peter, after they had a discreet meeting in the park about Neal. It seemed that people from his past reappearing was shaking the conman. Mozzie took a sip of his wine and moved towards the table, where a calling card was sitting in an evidence bag.

"The Architect," he read. "That's an excellent sobriquet. FBI case?"

Jason snorted while Neal absentmindedly confirmed it. Mozzie hummed and took a sip of wine.

"I need a new nickname."

"Mozzie not cutting it anymore?"

"What about…The Question?"

Jason snorted into his wine and pointed out that there was already a Question in Gotham. Mozzie decided to ignore this piece of information. It wasn't like names were exclusive, more than one person could use a nickname.

"Or perhaps The Skeptic? Conman?" Neal wasn't meeting his eyes. Mozzie decided the direct route would be better. "The Architect, he's a bank robber?"

"A good one," Neal said. "Since when are you concerned with FBI cases?"

"Since," Mozzie glanced over at Jason. He couldn't get the whole message across with the taller man here.

Later, while finishing off the wine bottle, Mozzie would tell Neal that he was concerned that he was 'spiralling into the dark place'.

"You may remember that I have colluded on a bank heist or two in my day. What do we have?"

Neal explained that there had been three clean jobs in five years. No evidence left behind and no trail. The only thing they had were the card. Embossed with 'The Architect'. Forensics had yet to match the decorative 'A' to a typeface.

Jason didn't seem impressed by that but he also had to admit that he didn't have any idea which font was used for the 'A'. He listened quietly as Neal and Mozzie discussed the typeface's origins; the possible Cyrillic and Russian influences. He didn't comment on why they were reading so much into the calling card as he had worked with Batman. Calling cards were important to some criminals. And some vigilantes.

"If you left a calling card, how would you sign it?" Neal mused to the room.

"I'd never leave a card. It's way too brazen," Mozzie responded. "Would you?"

"I don't need to leave a card," Jason said.

Neal just smiled, all the answer Mozzie needed. After all, Mozzie had seen Neal at work.

"Of course you would," Mozzie commented to his friend. Jason was taken aback at that. Neal grinned at him as well but didn't elaborate. Mozzie continued, "The better question is, if you were him, what card would you leave?"

Jason didn't stay long after they located the typeface. He knew they would just take it to the FBI and he could hack the reports. It came from Ivan Aivazovsky's signature; an obscure Russian painter whose 'A' matched the font on the card.

Neal was pleased to have something to take to Peter the next day.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I'm actually going away over the weekend, travelling to visit my grandparents. They don't really have internet, so I'll be using the data on my phone. Which is about 2GB. I should be able to do usual stuff but it might not work (it's the first time I'll be using it like that). I'm warning everyone ahead of time that I might vanish on Friday and resurface Sunday or Monday.
> 
> Also, on this chapter: the maths on the money taken comes from the script of the show. I point this out because it doesn't seem accurate to me but maybe I'm missing something. All the numbers came from the show and some of the dialogue.

 

* * *

Peter found a hedge fund manager called Edward Walker. The kind of guy with a lot of time and money on his hands as well as a passion for Aivazovsky paintings. Neal went with him to meet the guy. By the end of the first meeting, Neal knew Walker was behind it. He just had to prove it and get the guy behind bars where he belonged.

As Neal and Peter were leaving, Walker refusing to tell them anything without a warrant, Walker called out, "Mr. Caffrey, a suggestion for the next time you commit a crime. Don't get caught."

Peter frowned at Neal as he slammed the car door.

"We'll get him," Peter promised.

Neal nodded stiffly and waited for Peter to bring up Neal's other mistake while they were up there. Walker let Neal hit a golf ball off his balcony and into the bay. Except, Neal's hands had been trembling and he missed, shooting the ball off towards the pier. He knew Peter had noticed as the agent hadn't stopped glancing at his hands.

"The guy from the other day, Jason," Peter mused as he drove. "Have you seen him since?"

"Why?" Neal questioned automatically. "Is he suspected of something?"

Peter didn't respond. Neal found that odd. If Peter had found anything criminal about Jason, he would be telling Neal about it.

"Neal, what is your relationship to him?" Peter asked.

Neal paused for a moment to think about it. There was a chance that Peter was putting feelers out, trying to figure out how Neal fit into the puzzle that was Jason Todd. Because everyone else in his family was more interesting than Neal. After all, his friends sometimes became his brothers' friends.

"Neal Caffrey doesn't have a relationship to him," Neal responded. "It's just that he wants to hang around. It's probably because he's been hired to stop the Architect and I'm close to this case and not a fed."

Peter hummed in thought and focused on the traffic. The drive was silent and Neal felt it itch at his skin.

"Peter, I'm sure it'll be fine. We'll get Walker long before he can do anything." Neither of them knew which 'he' Neal was referring to.

"I hope so," Peter said. Back at the office, they were working on other cases and trying to place Walker in the cities at the same time the Architect appeared.

* * *

Neal managed to get a cloned copy of Walker's timetable. He and Mozzie hit the secretary, Neal chatting her up while Mozzie cloned the SIM from her phone hidden in the shadows of two tables over. The days when the other cities had been hit, the calendar had been coloured green.

The next days was also coloured in green. Walker was supposed to have a meeting at the bank at noon.

"Do I want to know how you got this?" Peter asked when Neal presented him with the information.

"Do I have to tell you?" Neal countered with a grin.

Peter frowned. "Did you mention this to Jason at all?"

What? "Jason? No? Why?" Neal's heart thudded in his chest. He knew Peter would probably want a little more firepower. Or maybe it was how Jason could move around without being tracked because he wasn't on an anklet.

"Good," Peter said. "Don't mention it to him. I don't need private security hanging around our case."

Neal hoped the relief he felt didn't show on his face.

* * *

The bank robbery didn't happen. Instead they found a clock which went off inside the bank. A taunt. They had been set up. Hughes and the higher ups were not happy. It didn't matter though because bank alarms started going off after the meeting between them and Peter. Only a couple of the banks were left silent.

"They're spreading us thin," Peter growled. As the elevator took them down, he turned to Neal. "Alright, let's start again. Why did he send the card?"

Neal suggested that Walker was trying to challenge them. That it was a test. Like how they tested the bank security. They found the weak points Walker could have used.

"We revealed the bank's weaknesses to him," Neal realised. They had made it easier for Walker to walk in and take whatever he wanted. The banks hadn't had time to implement most of the suggested changes, exactly as Walker planned it.

"Which means that he's probably going to hit one of the original five." One of the five banks which they had done security runs on. Neal's phone went off.

_Unknown number._

"Hello?"

"There's thirty-five alarms going off across the city," Jason said. "I need to know if you or your FBI friends have managed to narrow it down."

"How did you get this number?" Neal questioned instead. Of course, he and Peter knew which bank was going to be hit. It was going to be the one where Renee was working. She was the only one now who knew the codes to get into the vault. It was because of Neal's suggested changes that the codes changed daily, which she was in charge of.

"Seriously?" Jason huffed. "I looked it up. Anyway, I'm hacking through the feeds for all the banks and am trying to spot these guys. Save me some time."

"We're being spread out across the city," Neal said, not technically lying. "Good luck, Jay. We're going to need it."

* * *

Neal and Peter got to the bank, but not in time. Renee had been forced to open the vault and Walker's crew got away. Peter had fired some impressive shots, taking out the guns of their scouts. However, no one was captured. Worst of all, Walker was now filing a lawsuit against the FBI for harassment and defamation of character.

Neal bit his tongue to keep from talking. He knew that if Jason knew about Walker, the man might not last long. Even though it was drawing this case out, Neal wanted this win for himself and the FBI. Something to prove to his family that he wasn't useless.

"Come on," Peter said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go get this guy."

Neal nodded and took slow breathes to calm his shaking hands. Waiting for them in the conference room was Jones, complete with the footage from the robbery.

Peter went straight for the file and opened it.

"Looks like they got away with eight point two million," Peter said as Jones paused the playback. On the screen, masked men were picking up briefcases filled with the stolen money.

"Are you sure?" Neal questioned. He was looking at the briefcases, something not really adding up in his head. He was estimating but he still didn't think those cases could hold that much.

"Jones has excellent penmanship," Peter quipped and Jones nodded his head in thanks for the compliment.

Neal grabbed a pen and paper and started rattling off information. He asked for an estimate on the size of the cases. There were around eight in all, the bills were all Franklins and packed in groups of one hundred. The size of a pack and the size of the cases meant that each case held only $960 000 in cash.

The robbers only walked out with six point five million, tops.

"There's over a million dollars unaccounted for," Jones commented. Neal was onto something.

"That sounds like enough for a share," Peter said. He had an idea where that share may have gone. "Alright, new angle. Let's check inside the bank for our share."

They found it. Renee had opened a box in a dead uncle's name. They received a warrant and took Renee down to open it. The arrest was  _mostly_  uneventful and Renee flipped on Walker.

Neal went home, high on a win.

* * *

Mozzie was sitting at the table when he walked in.

"Moz," he greeted the other man happily, looking around to make sure they were alone.

"Relax. Your tag-along private fed left a while ago," Mozzie said. Neal breathed a sigh of relief and sat down.

"Any news?"

Mozzie pulled out a file. "I have something... interesting for you."

Neal took the file and opened it. It was a picture of a music box but not their music box.

"What is this?"

"That is the music box, as logged by the FBI."

"Moz," Neal said in a 'don't try and trick me' tone. They both knew it wasn't the box.

"Somewhere between your office and DC, it turned into that."

"So where's the box now?" Neal questioned, wondering if they could use it find Fowler.

Mozzie hummed. "The Lady Suit had it."

"What?"

"The Lady Suit had it. Stephanie sent me a picture of it, inside the Lady Suit's apartment. Then, nothing."

"Nothing?" Neal questioned.

"I haven't heard from her since."

Neal couldn't help thinking of the worst case scenarios with a spike of worry in his chest.

"Relax. She's fine. But you may get a phone call from the Suit later, wondering where the box is."

Neal did. He had to admit, he had no idea where the box had gone. He said that there was someone else who knew about it. Peter assumed Alex. Neal didn't correct him.

"What's so important about that music box, Neal?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me. You have an idea and I know you're looking into it during your off time. What's so important about that box?"


	26. Chapter 26

Peter paced the room. El gave Neal a sympathetic look. Mozzie stood off to the side with his hands crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

"I don't see why we need to tell the Suit anything," Mozzie said.

"Look, I gave Diana that box to look after. Her girlfriend is now afraid to stay at their apartment since someone broke in. Tell me what's going on."

"Stephanie went rogue. We have no idea what she's planning."

"Who's Stephanie?" Peter questioned. Neal scratched nervously at his arm.

"She's helping us to decode the music box."

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to get to the bottom of this. He needed to be able to estimate risk to his people.

"And what? She just decided to steal it?" he questioned.

Neal shrugged. He had no idea. "She didn't share her plans."

"But you did," Peter deduced. "Who else knows about the music box?"

"Stephanie, Damian, Alex, myself and Mozzie," Neal said. "June probably knows as well." Because he didn't think there could be anything happening under June's roof without her knowing about it.

"I only gave the box to Diana and I have no idea what the big deal is. Only that people want it." Peter pulled out a chair and sat down. "So, why is everyone after this music box?"

"It contained a code," Neal said. "A second music piece which plays discordant cords. Mozzie's been trying to decode its meaning but he's not making a lot of headway."

Peter looked over to Mozzie. Mozzie pulled out the little book he had been working on the code in and flipped through the pages.

"I've applied additive code, Morse, Baudot, set theory logarithmic and geographic, every kind of cipher. Unless ' _GLARVANDKKGLL_ ' means something to any of you then it's still just noise."

"And Steph?" Neal asked.

"She has been trying similar codes. Last time she mentioned the code, she was attempting to decode it in other languages. In case the message wasn't in English in the first place."

"That's possible," Neal mused. "The box has travelled all over the world."

"And you did find it with the Italians," Peter commented. Neal and Mozzie stared at him. How did he know? "We had a report about a couple of figures escaping the consulate." Neal saw the impressed sparkle in Mozzie's eye. It seemed Mozzie was starting to understand why Neal spent time around Peter. Peter turned to Mozzie. "Is there anyone else who can help you with the code?"

Neal was surprised Peter wanted to bring another person into this. However, he had to admit, it was a good idea.

Mozzie didn't have to think for long. This was what he did. He confidently answered, "there's one guy. Runs an antique store in the west 30's."

"A code breaker?" El asked, reminding them all that she too was listening and involved.

"A code maker. Has a reputation for hiding codes in gadgets."

"Government work?" Peter asked.

Mozzie hesitated before responding, "yes. Just not our government."

"You trust him?" Neal questioned. They already had too many unknown variables running around.

"Enough to play him a partial piece without telling him where it came from."

Neal looked to Peter, who nodded and told Mozzie to give it a shot. Peter turned to Neal.

"We have work to do."

Neal was curious. "We always have work to do."

"Not like this." Peter pulled out a file. "You shared with me, now I'm returning the favour."

* * *

Peter pulled out a file. Diana has worked hard to gather the information within. First was a picture. The picture of a familiar figure getting money out of an ATM.

"Fowler," Neal said with distaste, recognising the man instantly. "How'd you get this?"

"We paid out the life insurance payment owed to him when his wife died," Peter said. "And then waited for him to withdraw the money."

"He really needs that cash," Mozzie commented with Neal nodding along in agreement.

"He knows taking it will put him on the radar but he still does it. Either he believes he can hide or Mozzie's right."

Peter pulled out the information on Aaron Burgess, Fowler's current alias.

"Either way, we tracked him to some short term housing near that ATM."

Neal read over the information. "Oh. That's... wow. Fowler bought the parts for the explosive used to blow up what was supposed to be my escape plane."

"He tried to kill you?" Mozzie questioned in a low, dangerous tone.

Peter held up a hand in Mozzie's direction. "We've got enough to hold him, as long as we can catch him."

There was a silence as everyone thought about that. Fowler was the last loose thread with the music box.

"How do you plan to do that?" Mozzie questioned.

"Diana's on it."

* * *

Diana put the phone down and quickly gathered up some files. She walked briskly up the stairs, gaining Neal's attention. It could have been anything since Peter did run their division alongside Hughes. However, something told Neal it had to do with the music box.

Mozzie still hadn't heard from Steph. He had also dropped a piece of the music off with Akihiro, his code maker contact. Akihiro had realised something important; it was a two part code. He and Mozzie were working on one part each to decode it.

Neal went up to Peter's office and knocked on the door.

Peter waved him in, ready to share what Diana had discovered.

"The Russians received an interesting delivery the other day," Peter commented. Neal saw the picture of the music box and winced. "Do you think this will get Fowler out into the open?"

"It's a good plan," he sighed. It seemed Steph and Damian had gone off-reservation and Peter was not happy.

"Neal, I really hope you didn't have something to do with this," Peter commented. Neal understood. It probably felt like a plan he would put together since he, Steph and Damian were all trained by the same person. Peter continued, "the event is invitation only."

"So we won't be able to get in." Not without forging an invitation.

"Whatever you're thinking, no. We can do a stakeout outside. In fact, I think you'll be joining me for that."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Really? Just promise me, no devilled ham."

"Deal. Oh, and Diana's joining us."

* * *

Neal crossed his arms and sat back against the seat. He could only see out the side of the car and a little in front. He felt blinded.

"Why do I have to sit in the back?" he complained.

"Because," Peter said, watching the entrance with binoculars.

"That's not a reason," Neal pouted.

"Because I have a gun," Diana responded. "Better?"

"Is it a shotgun?" Neal quipped with a grin.

Peter groaned.

"That was bad, even for you, Caffrey," Diana said. The light air dissipated a moment later when she said, "I see Fowler."

"I'm going after him," Peter said, quickly getting out of the car. Diana and Neal moved to follow him. "Stay on the entrance!" he called to Diana as he ran across the road with Neal on his heels.

Peter flashed his badge to get into the building. Neal stayed close up the first set of stairs. They could see Fowler down the hall, who bolted the moment Peter told him to freeze.

Neal went a different way to Peter. Fowler was cornered and had locked himself in a room to get out another way. Probably through the window. Neal figured he could get in that way.

Neal ducked into a room a short distance away and opened the window. There was a banner hanging on the wall, just as expected. He grabbed the banner, stepped out onto the railing and jumped. He gripped the banner tightly as he swung through the air.

His feet crashed through the window first, startling Fowler away from the door.

"Neal!" Peter called upon hearing the crash. Neal moved to open the door for Peter, stopping as a gun was fired in his direction.

"I wouldn't do that."

Neal turned back to the window. They hadn't been the only ones chasing Fowler. Or, perhaps he and Peter were the ones being chased.

Fowler's mouth had dropped open and he was backing up as far against the wall as he could go. He fired off another shot, which bounced harmlessly off weapon.

In his part orange and part black uniform, Deathstroke stood like an unmovable pillar. His expression was hidden under his full face mask.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So while I managed to hook my laptop to the my phone for internet while at my grandparents, I was busy doing stuff and enjoying time with them so I didn't end up typing much. Sorry for the delay, here's a new chapter.

 

* * *

Neal stepped between Deathstroke and Fowler. He stood side-on, not letting either of them out of his sight. He held out a hand towards Deathstroke.

"Why are you here?" he demanded to know.

Deathstroke shook his head. "Didn't know you'd be here, Kid. I was looking to catch up with you later."

That sounded ominous. Neal frowned and glanced over at the door where Peter was still trying to get in. They had until the key arrived.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" Deathstroke countered. He took a step forward. Neal didn't move. "Think," Deathstroke ordered, as if he had any hand in training Neal. However, Neal had spent time around the man in the past and he responded to that tone of voice.

"You work for your own gain. Either someone's paying you or Fowler crossed you," Neal said.

"And which is more likely."

"Someone's paying you." Neal knew Deathstroke was grinning under that mask. But he wasn't finished yet. "Probably the same someone after the music box."

Fowler growled from beside him, angry at the mention of that box. "Really?" he huffed.

Deathstroke shrugged, as much as a confirmation as he was willing to give Fowler. The door opened and Peter pulled out his gun. For a moment, he pointed it at Fowler before registering the bigger threat in the room.

"Agent Burke," Deathstroke noted, taking a step back. "I do so dislike it when the Suits get involved."

"Not another step," Peter warned. He looked at Neal. "You alright?"

"I'm fine. But you should stop him. He's been hired to kill Fowler."

Peter levelled a look at Fowler. "What kind of people have you made mad? And all over a music box?"

"You think I wanted to spend the last year of my life chasing that box?" Fowler yelled. "It cost me everything! My career is over! My wife is gone!"

Deathstroke used Fowler's outburst as a distraction and jumped out the window. Everyone except Fowler rushed to see where he went.

"He's gone," the guard who let Peter in commented in an awed voice. Peter didn't let himself be distracted for long, turning back to Fowler.

"Cuff him," Peter said to the guard, nodding his head at Fowler.

* * *

Jones and Diana took Fowler back with him while Peter instructed Neal to get into his car. Even though they had just had a huge win, Peter was frowning. Neal was worried.

"How do you know Deathstroke?" It was inevitable that Peter would ask that.

Neal sunk down in the chair. It wasn't an easy question to answer. Not without revealing things about himself he wanted to keep secret. Neal wondered if he could just keep to part of the truth.

"During our time overseas, Mozzie once made someone angry enough to send a mercenary after him," Neal said. "Deathstroke was the one who took the job and he attacked Moz while I was there. I got in between them and said he would have to get through me to hurt Moz."

Peter shook his head, no doubt thinking that was a stupid move but also not surprised.

"Mozzie is like family to me," Neal reminded Peter in a forceful tone. "Besides, it impressed Deathstroke enough to let us go."

"Why's he here?"

Neal shrugged. "The music box, I guess. And someone wanted Fowler dead."

"Makes sense. He's probably failed them one too many times," Peter sighed. "Hopefully this makes it easier for Fowler to tell us what we want to know."

* * *

Fowler hadn't been behind the explosives. Even though his alias had bought them, he remained adamant that he hadn't been the one to blow the plane up. He had a wife once. She had been killed and he killed the man who did it in retaliation. Except, there was a video and it was being held over his head.

"He told me, if I got him the music box, the video would disappear," Fowler explained to Peter. They sat across from each other in the interview room, a tape recorder between them. They both knew that Neal, Jones and Diana were all outside, looking in, even though they couldn't see them.

Peter explained that he found a meeting time in Fowler's files. He had Diana had turned up to the meeting but the person had fled. They only had a patchwork of unfocused facial images to use to identify the man. On the other side of the mirror, Neal gave Diana an impressed look. He hadn't the slightest notion about this meeting which Fowler and Peter were discussing. Fowler had been trying to find out who was behind it all. The meeting was with an intermediary.

Fowler also recognised the man who had turned up. Julian Larssen.

Peter ended the meeting, feeling like they were finally getting somewhere. Neal smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Then the phone rang. NYPD called in a homicide which seemed like Deathstroke's work.

* * *

It was an antique shop. Neal knew it the moment Peter pulled up. He kept hoping he was wrong. His heart thudded in his chest and his eyes stung as he walked up to the familiar door and into the familiar shop. Akihiro Tanaka's body still lay on the ground, covered by a sheet.

There was blood on the floor. Neal swallowed. He could have stopped this. If only he had fought Deathstroke rather than letting the killer leave.

"Neal," Peter said. Neal snapped his vision away from the body on the ground and silently chided himself for getting distracted.

"Peter," he responded. It would be best to explain without Peter having to ask. "He was working on the code."

"The music box?" Peter questioned before giving a frustrated huff. "I'm placing you under my protective custody."

"What?"

Peter pointed to the screen, frozen to Neal's image. The one from when he and Mozzie had dropped off the code. Neal's eyes were drawn to the book open below it. It proclaimed ' _Eureka_ '.

"He figured something out," Neal mused as he pulled on gloves and picked up the book. If Akihiro had put together the code and been killed over it, who else could be killed? Maybe he and Mozzie should just-

Mozzie.

The book slipped from Neal's fingers and he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Peter. I wasn't here alone," he said, glancing back at the screen. Paused on him. So they would waste time without realising who the real target was.

"False alarm," Jones said, ignoring the tension in the air.

"What do you mean?" Peter questioned.

"Deathstroke was spotted in the area but Akihiro was killed with two shots to the chest."

"The files said Deathstroke's weapon of choice is a sword," Peter commented with a glance at Neal. Neal was itching to move.

"Doesn't matter. Someone's after Mozzie." Neal had no idea where Mozzie was. The killer had a head start and with the FBI watching him, Neal didn't think he could find Mozzie in time.

He couldn't lose another brother. His hand reached for his phone before he really thought about who to call. There was an unregistered number in his phone. One which had called him but he hadn't called back. It was the number for the burner Jason was using. As much as Neal hated to rely on any of them, he would hate himself more if he didn't and Mozzie died because of it.

He dialed the number.

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting this-" Jason started. Neal didn't have time to listen to his stupid dramatic script!

"Mozzie's in danger, I need your help," he said in a short, clipped tone. "Find him and protect him. Don't forget to let me know where he is."

"Spying on your friends huh-" Jason didn't get to say anymore as the call was ended.


	28. Chapter 28

With the news that Mozzie might be the next target, Peter decided to take Neal back to his apartment. Neal waited patiently for his chance to break away and track Mozzie down, only comforted by the thought that Jason was out there searching.

"Shouldn't you get back to the office?" Neal questioned when Peter invited himself in.

Peter took a seat. "Jones is taking care of it."

Neal bit the inside of his mouth. There was a key he had created for his anklet sitting in a book on the bookshelf. However, he didn't want to reveal its existence to Peter. Not yet. Not if he would need it to chase after Deathstroke when this is over.

The door slammed open.

"Neal!" Mozzie cried out as he dashed in. He paused when he spotted Peter. "What's the Suit doing here?"

"We had a run in with Deathstroke today," Neal said. "Mozzie, Akihiro's dead. We thought the killer might come after you. Have you noticed anything?"

Mozzie glanced at Peter with a frown before deciding to answer. "I'm mostly fine," he responded. "Deathstroke protected me. Neal, whatever you've done for him-"

"Babysitting," Neal quickly summarised to Peter.

"Whatever. He must feel he owes you something. Someone came to kill me but he interrupted them."

"Deathstroke saved your life?" Peter questioned in surprise.

"Who tried to kill you, Moz?" Neal asked.

"No idea. Never seen him before." Peter mused on that information as Mozzie burst out with, "but that's not the important part!"

"He was probably after you for the code," Neal commented. "You solved it?"

"Mostly but-"

"Did he look like this?" Peter asked, pulling out a photo and placing it on the table in front of Mozzie. He nodded and asked who it was. "Julian Larssen."

Neal ran a hand through his hair. "Mozzie, when you say Deathstroke 'interrupted' Larssen, what happened to him?"

Mozzie glanced to Peter, as if weighing the presence of the FBI before speaking.

"Deathstroke killed him." Peter and Neal stared. "Come on!" Mozzie huffed. "Last time he tried to kill me, I'm just glad I wasn't the target."

"Me too," Neal whispered. His mind was whirling as it pieced things together. Deathstroke didn't kill Mozzie and it was unlikely he killed Akihiro. But he did attack Fowler. Larssen was the one who attempted to kill Mozzie and probably killed Akihiro. Deathstroke killed Larssen. "Larssen was looking into those who were solving the code and killing any who did solve it," which didn't bode well for Steph. But, she was the one who cut contact from them. Neal ignored the pang of worry and pain in his chest. He had expected her to cut contact. It was nothing to be hurt over. "Deathstroke was probably brought in to eliminate anyone who got too close to authorities. He appeared before Fowler when he was about to be arrested. He could kill Larssen under the claim that he attracted the attention of the authorities."

Neal looked up and was reminded that he was standing in June's apartment, the dark sky speckled with lights from buildings outside the windows, a painting of his sitting half-finished on the easel behind him and Mozzie and Peter listening to him theorise silently.

"It's the likeiest senario," Mozzie finally commented.

"While Deathstroke saved Mozzie, he's effectively kept us from discovering who was behind it all," Peter added with a discontent frown. "Larssen was our only clue to the person behind the scenes."

"That is true," Mozzie sighed. "I guess when we build whatever the code is, then we'll know who was behind it."

"What?" Peter and Neal questioned in unison.

"The code..." Mozzie started before stopping and grinning. "Oh, wait. I didn't get to tell you yet."

"Tell us what?" Peter huffed impatiently.

"The code. It's an equation that builds something." Mozzie's hands moved through the air as he spoke. "And, as I keep trying to tell you, Deathstroke took my notebook! They have the code!"

"At least he didn't kill you," Peter pointed out.

"That might be why Deathstroke could get away with not killing you," Neal said. "He has something else to offer his client."

"Yeah! The equation! My equation," Mozzie grumbled loudly. "There's no way I'm letting them build it first. Suit! I need bendy straws!"

"Bendy straws?"

Mozzie waved him off for the question. "Forget it. Mrs. Suit already messaged that she'd get them."

"My wife?" Peter was bewildered. He turned to Neal. "Why is he messaging my wife?"

"Sometimes we have lunch," Mozzie huffed.

"Why are you having lunch with my wife?"

"Because we're friends. Elizabeth understands the plight of the common man." After a pause, Mozzie added, "and woman."

Neal placed a hand on Peter's tense shoulder. "Mozzie's mostly harmless."

"Let's just find out what that equation builds," Peter sighed. "Since it's our only clue."

* * *

Neal woke during the night. At first he wasn't sure why. Then he spotted the figure in the shadows and rolled over.

"Jason, let me sleep," he grumbled.

"I can't find your friend," Jason growled back. Just to be extra annoying, he flicked on the light. "You asked me to help him but he's nowhere to be found."

Neal mumbled something from under his pillow.

"Shut up." Jason grabbed his shoulder. Neal spun, dislodging Jason's hand as he twisted and rolled off the bed. He bounced on his feet, glaring across the bed at the other man. Jason had a frown on his face which looked more sad than angry. "Why did you call me?"

Neal yawned. "Is that all? I called you because Deathstroke went after Mozzie." Neal unconsciously edited out everything about Larssen.

"What? What happened?"

"Moz is fine, although Deathstroke got away with his notebook. Thankfully, Mozzie has an eidetic memory and remembers it all."

"Did Deathstroke find you?"

Neal stared at Jason. "Why do you seem upset?" he questioned. "I can handle myself, I was worried about my friend, that's all. Mozzie's fine, although feel free to keep watching over him."

"I can't find him. I came to see if you had any ideas on where he might be."

"I do. But I'm not allowed to tell you." Mozzie had sworn Neal to secrecy.

Jason's face went red. "You're not allowed to tell me?" he repeated in a huff. "Fine. I don't care what happens to your little criminal friend."

"I already knew that," Neal sighed, switching the light off. "But I guess you can let Steph know that Mozzie solved the code. She might care about that."

"What? You're going back to bed?"

Neal slipped under the covers. "I work during the day and Peter said something a big case tomorrow. He wants something to take my mind of what Mozzie's doing."

As he drifted off to sleep, Neal was certain he heard Jason mutter a 'seriously?' and a couple of curses under his breath before storming out. That night, Neal's dreams included the sound of boots walking away, abandoning him on the street.

* * *

Coffee was a must. He was sipping on his second cup when Peter arrived. He could feel the frown on his face twist up when he spotted the agent.

"Come on, Peter, join me," he said, kicking out the chair on the other side of the table. There was another cup of coffee sitting there for him.

"Don't mind if I do," Peter said, in a pleasant mood. "You're going to love this. There's this conman running around New York who steals from the rich and gives the value of what he steals to charities. He's a skilled forger, safe cracker, has style according to Diana and he's only 20 years old."

"Okay?" Neal questioned with a slight hint of dread. Peter seemed a bit too happy about this case.


	29. Chapter 29

Neal nodded his head at the agents wearing headgear and body armour. He eyed the ram with a frown. It wasn't the best way to get into a room but he wasn't about to suggest his lock picking skills. At least their crashing entry would shock the criminal.

"We traced him to this apartment," Peter explained before turning to Diana. "Is he in there?"

"There's movement inside," Diana said. Like Neal, she was eyeing the ram. Unlike Neal, there was a glint of excitement in her expression. "Please tell me I get to break down the door."

Neal watched a shadow move under the door. Did the kid know they were standing out here? The FBI wasn't the stealthiest of agents.

"Since you asked so nicely," Peter said.

With a wide grin, Diana bashed the door in. The other agents flanked her, calling out for anyone inside to freeze.

"Hands in the-" Peter cut off the speech as they realised the apartment was empty. The movement was caused by a vacuuming robot with a vase stuck on it. "Cute."

Neal looked at Peter like he had gone crazy.

"You want me to cuff it?" Diana asked as the agents put away their guns.

"We should hold it for questioning," Peter quipped back.

"Why are you smiling?" Neal questioned. This didn't seem funny to him. The criminal had tricked them and gotten away. Normally they would be more upset about it.

"He's clever," Peter said. The vacuum robot didn't move in a fixed pattern so the FBI didn't realise when he had bolted. "He must have an escape route somewhere."

"You're enjoying this," Neal commented in surprise.

"I love tracking the smart ones. Now that you're on my side, I miss the challenge."

Neal frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. "All he's done are a couple of mildly impressive forgeries allegedly cracked a face and put a vase on a Roomba. What?" Peter was staring at him in a strange way. Like he knew something Neal didn't.

"Nothing."

Diana walked out of the next room. "Boss, you're going to want to see this."

The wall was covered in photographs. Images of the agents who had been following this kid had been stuck to the wall in an arrangement which spelt out the letters F, B and I.

"Alright, maybe he is good," Neal admitted. Reluctantly.

* * *

He hadn't meant to nickname the kid. The kid already had a name, Scott Rivers, so Neal didn't get why the FBI had latched onto his joke about the kid being 'Robin Hoodie'. Scott stole from the rich, donated to charity and had been photographed on scene in a hoodie.

Neal twitched around the workplace with everyone making jokes about how this kid was 'the next Neal Caffrey' or things like that. Peter took Neal home with him that evening, admitting that he hoped they would get some real progress made when Neal wasn't glaring over his desk at people.

"You have a scary glare at times," Peter admitted. "I heard Jones telling Diana that his blood ran cold. Blake thinks it's a sign of how good a conman you are since you can get people to do what you want with a look."

Neal grinned at Peter. "A scary glare? Come on Peter, we both know you and any of the FBI agents could take me in a real fight."

They set up in the dining room, Peter at the head of the table and Neal to his right with the information on the case spread out between them.

"He's made a donation which doesn't match up to any of his alleged crimes," Peter mused.

"Match up?" El questioned as she brought out tea for all three of them.

"Every donation he's made has a connection to what he stole," Neal informed her. "He stole a half-million dollar bottle of scotch and made a similar donation to the Betty Ford Clinic. Since he needs to make the donation to get the card he signs, it would make sense that we can use the donations to figure out where he'll be."

El looked at the information in interest.

"Robin Hoodie's next crime-"

"Don't call him that," Neal grumbled.

"Is going to fund his donation to an organ donation charity."

"Maybe he's stealing a rare church organ?" Neal suggested, "as a play on words?"

Peter thought about it. "There might be more likely options. Organ donation makes you think of driver licences with it being marked on there."

Neal was sceptical. "He's going to rob the DMV?"

"I feel the pattern isn't as clear in what he's going to target," Peter sighed.

"How about targeting the Wayne event tomorrow?" El suggested.

"What?" Peter and Neal questioned in unison.

"The donation is for 100 grand, right?" El said. Peter and Neal nodded. "Well, Wayne is supposed to be showing of a motorbike tomorrow night worth that much."

"That's ridiculous," Neal said. "Wayne industries has their own charity, the Wayne Foundation, and Bruce Wayne is also a known philanthropist."

Peter gave him a curious look before shelving El's idea. "I don't see our connection to the organ charity."

"The night was supposed to be about Wayne Medical and how they are close to growing their own organs so people won't have to wait," El informed them. "But Wayne cancelled that and instead made it about this new bike of his."

"Do you really think Robin Hoodie would steal his bike?" Neal questioned.

El shrugged. "But hospitals sometimes have donorcycles. That could also be a connection?"

"Neal." Neal didn't like that tone of voice. It was bright, as if Peter had made a connection. Usually that made him happy but, this was not going to end well for him. "In your earlier assessment of Robin Hoodie-"

"It was a joke, please stop calling him that."

Peter ignored him. "You said that it was likely he was raised around people who had a lot of money and came to resent them. What's the likelihood he would go after Wayne tomorrow?"

"High," Neal admitted reluctantly. He really hoped Peter would keep him out of this then. He didn't want to see Bruce at all. He itched just being in the same city.

And he really should check the news more often since he didn't even realise the man was in New York.

* * *

Neal walked out of the elevator and into the office with a heavy heart. His gut churned like butter in a barrel. Peter had sent a message last night, saying that Hughes thought there was something behind their theory on where 'Robin Hoodie' would strike next.

It meant that he and Peter were staking out the party with a group of agents. Neal had avoided anything to do with his old mentor for years and has somehow avoided any mention of Wayne aside from news which was 90 percent made up anyway.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Wayne."

"Don't worry about it, Agent Burke." Neal froze as his desk, hands gripping the edge tightly. He hadn't even walked around his desk and his vision locked on his chair on the other side. He knew that voice. Had grown up hearing that voice in all its forms.

Bruce Wayne. Batman. 'Brucie'.

No, no, no, no, no, no, not now, why now, no, no, no;

"Dick?" Neal's head snapped up automatically.

**Run!**

Neal turned towards the doors and started to move, a moment too late. Bruce grabbed his lower arm and pulled him closer.

Using the momentum, Neal twisted to face Bruce and jumped. His hands braced themselves on Bruce's shoulders as he flipped over the bulkier man. Bruce had to let go or have his arm wrenched in a painful, impossible direction. Neal shoved his shoulder into Bruce's back and pushed him up against the wall.

He tried for the door again and grabbed Bruce's outstretched arm as the man shook himself off the wall and came for him again. Neal flipped Bruce across the room, onto his back and shoved the glass doors open.

An elevator dinged open and Neal jumped in, pushing the person inside out into the hall. He slammed the button for the ground floor and prayed Bruce wouldn't get here before the doors closed. Pressed up against the wall, Neal's heart wouldn't stop its rapid beating.

He spent the trip to the ground floor attempting to slow his breathing. He needed to walk out so that no one would stop him. If security or something came after him, then he would bolt. But until then, he had to keep a low profile. He passed agent and civilian alive on his quick walk out. He even jokingly said, "I forgot the coffee!" to an organised crime agent who commented he was going a little fast.

He made it to the sidewalk and slipped into a cab, mind racing over what to do now.


	30. Chapter 30

Mozzie was sitting at the table with a bunch of straws spread out in front of him. He looked up the moment Neal shoved the door open. Neal was still and pale, blinking like he couldn't believe Mozzie was there.

"What's wrong? I thought you were with the Suit today?"

"Change of plans," Neal said, voice sounding strangled as he forced himself to respond. He stumbled over to the bookshelf and pulled out a certain book. Hidden in a hollowed out page was a key to his anklet.

Mozzie's eyes widened and he moved closer. "Is that what I think it is?"

"A key to my anklet?" Neal questioned. "Yeah."

"You had that and you haven't used it?" Mozzie questioned. He would have sounded angry, if he didn't know that Neal bringing this out meant that something was very wrong.

"He found me, Moz," Neal said.

"Who found you?"

Despite the question being directed at Neal and Mozzie's belief that they were alone, it wasn't Neal who answered.

"Bruce Wayne." They both turned to the glass doors which led out onto the balcony. Jason stood there in a brown leather jacket and a concerned frown on his face. Mozzie edged closer to Neal, unsure how the ruffian got in. "He found you, huh?"

Neal's eyes went cold and narrow. "You told him?" he guessed, his voice hard and dark. Mozzie swallowed and took a step away from his friend. This left him standing out in the open and wishing to be anywhere but here. Like a beach on his own tropical island or something.

Jason shook his head.

"Do not lie," Neal said, voice disturbingly level. "You all turn up in my life and I am supposed to believe it is by chance?"

"Bruce came because Damian's been in New York, refusing to return to Gotham for 'trivial reasons' like making public appearances and the only way to have the party so that he could make an appearance was to have it here," Jason said quickly.

Neal stalked forward gracefully and grabbed Jason by the shirt.

"I don't care why he's here, only that he is. And I'll be gone by tonight. Mozzie, how soon can you get us new identities?"

"Depends on how long you want them to last," Mozzie said hesitantly.

"Not for long. We can find the time to secure more permanent identities later," Neal huffed, shoving Jason away. "See if anyone is willing to take a last minute job."

"Neal," Mozzie paused before deciding he had a right to ask. "Are these people your family?"

"Neal Caffrey has a missing mother, dead father and no siblings," Neal recited.

"Your real family."

"No such thing." A duffel bag was hidden under the bed. Neal pulled it out and started shoving clothes into it.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jason bellowed. "You can't just up and leave, we just found you! Damian was worried that you would run so he didn't tell Bruce. Do you know what this'll do to him? "

Neal froze and slammed the bag against the bed. It didn't make more than a rustling noise which just frustrated him more.

Jason saw what he thought was a weakness and went for it. "You disappeared without a word, almost legal signs of you gone." Mozzie muttered a quiet 'impressive'. "What were we supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Neal huffed, turning to face Jason. "Hang out? Get pizza? Whatever you all do whenever you aren't tolerating me!"

"Tolerating?"

Neal's hands clenched into fists, like the feeling twisting in his chest.

"I tried!" he bellowed. "I tried to do what you all wanted!" He threw a punch in Jason's direction to hide the tears he could feel on his checks. He was weak with emotion, he knew that. Still, he didn't want to advertise it. "I twisted and bent until I didn't recognise the person in the mirror!"

The world spun. There was a hand gripping his wrist and Neal was on the ground with Jason pressing down on him.

"What are you talking about? Steph mentioned something about you asking about the last time we saw you. So I laughed in your face, so what?"

Neal barked a harsh laugh. Of course Steph told Jason about that.

"I wasn't aware that you guys were talking," he responded in a flat tone. The cool press of the ground seemed to be draining him of passionate emotion, leaving him a dull husk.

"We're siblings and we've all been worried about you."

"Years ago, I would have loved to hear that," Neal said. He shoved Jason off him and Jason let him stand up. "Now, I don't know." He shook his head. "I just feel numb. I'm leaving Jason. Hopefully you won't find me this time."

"Oh thank goodness!" Mozzie exclaimed. Jason's head snapped over to the little guy but Mozzie wasn't focused on them. He was focused on the door, where Peter was standing.

* * *

Neal looked between Jason and Peter. Peter deserved something.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused," Neal said. "But I won't talk to Wayne. That includes apologising for him or whatever you want me to say."

"I figured as much," Peter sighed. He held up a bag with a couple of beers and a bottle of wine. "Think we can talk though?"

Neal hesitated.

"One night." Peter pulled out his bag and placed it on the table. "Full immunity. Until the sun rises over that balcony." The sun was only just setting, the sky a darkening blue-grey.

Beside him, Jason sucked in a shocked breath. Neal hated that action being a decider for him.

"Alright."

"I'll work on that other thing," Mozzie said, edging towards the door. "Call me if you need me." Neal was uncertain which 'other thing' Mozzie meant. He was also unsure whether Mozzie was talking to him or Peter. He had been oddly relieved to see the agent appear.

Peter looked at Jason. "It's up to Neal whether you stay or not."

Neal didn't look at Jason. Instead he focused on the bottle of wine Peter pulled out.

"I don't recognise the bottle," he commented.

"That's because it cost as much as the beer," Peter responded with a mischievous grin. He had an idea of the kind of wine Neal liked to stock and took pleasure in bringing something bottom shelf for him to taste. Neal grabbed a glass and sat down.

"Don't even need a corkscrew," he commented, still slightly numb to everything.

"Yep," Peter responded, passing a beer to Jason, who turned his nose up at the wine. "So, I didn't have as difficult a time convincing Bruce Wayne to not press charges against you as I thought I would."

"What happened?" Jason asked.

"Neal threw him across the office," Peter responded.

Jason barked a nervous laugh. Neal could have easily thrown him earlier, if he hadn't been almost blinded and tense with rage.

"He tried to grab me. It was self-defence," Neal countered in a dull voice.

"Neal..." Peter said, part soothing and part scolding. "What's the connection between you and Wayne?"

"When I was young, around nine or ten, he took me in as his ward when my parents died," Neal said.

"An important thing to note is that his name wasn't Neal Caffrey," Jason said. Neal glared at him. "What? I'm helping. This is helping."

"Not really," Neal responded.

"I don't really want to know unless Neal tells me," Peter said to Jason. "Although, it shouldn't be too difficult to find out if I really want to know. How many ten year olds could Wayne have adopted?"

"You'd be surprised."

"You won't find anything about me because I erased all the files," Neal explained.

"We reinstated them," Jason reminded him.

Neal stared at him. "That's impossible. They were erased. There was no way to bring them back."

Jason, sensing the hostile threat in Neal's words, held up his hands. "Bad phrasing on my part. We created new files and made them look like they had always been there. You exist on paper, although you are listed as 'missing'."

"I'm interested in how 'Dick Grayson' allegedly became 'Neal Caffrey'," Peter commented. Neal's and Jason's attention snapped back to the agent, who looked nonchalant with his beer in his hand.

Neal reached for the bottle of wine.

"I'm nowhere near ready to talk about that. Let's start with something easy, like where the name came from. See, I had just left and, confident that no one would discover me missing for a while, I sought a flight out of Gotham…"


	31. Chapter 31

Jason listened as Neal told the story of how he had changed misheard words into a name and flown away. His eyes didn't leave Neal's face as he described living in Paris. Neal even spoke about refining his painting skill in classes for English speakers in Paris.

Neal relaxed a little as he described those times. They had been simple. The time which had passed made the times he moved, worried his old family could have found him, into less stressful times. They became times were he could have moved if he was worried about his old family finding him. Now he was stuck.

"I don't suppose you could go back further, before Neal?" Peter asked.

Neal sighed and took another sip of his wine. "Did Bruce tell the office?"

"He called your name," Peter said. "I bet everyone will be looking up any Dicks connected to Bruce Wayne before the end of the day."

The very thought made Neal's stomach churn and his body chill. However, Peter was being straight with him.

"Yeah. I was the first Bruce took in. Plus, I had a long time with him before Jason came along in my late teens."

Peter raised an eyebrow at Jason.

Jason shrugged and said, "I got less than a year before things happened. So Dick was the lucky one."

"I paved the way," Dick said. "I fought for things you and the rest were handed. Bruce didn't ask me to do things, he gave me politely phrased orders because I was the oldest, I was the one expected to be able to handle it."

Jason rolled his eyes. "You played at being the big brother," he scoffed.

Neal's eyes widened and his glass shook in his usually steady hands. He wasn't sure if he wanted to smash it into the table or if he wanted to throw his wine in Jason's face.

"I don't 'play' at emotions. Some things are impossible to fake."

To Neal's relief, Peter nodded at that. He knew that Neal was only as good at conning as he was because he actually felt the way he acted.

Jason's phone beeped and he grumbled about how this was not the best timing as he checked who was calling.

"It's Tim," he said.

Neal felt like asking how Tim was since he hadn't seen his younger middle brother in a while. Tim hadn't appeared like Damian and Jason had. Maybe he was with Cass?

Jason walked outside to answer and Neal hoped that was because Jason wasn't going to tell Tim about him just yet.

* * *

"You love your family," Peter stated in a curious voice. He had noticed the wistful look on Neal's face. It was the look he saw sometimes, the one which had made him think Neal hadn't had a family growing up. But Neal had. "What makes someone leave their family, even when they love them?"

"Lots of things, Peter," Neal responded. Peter had made the right choice in asking it as a general question and not specifically asking why Neal himself had left. Peter was letting him decide whether to tell. "The kinds of things which make someone question whether they loved them before thinking they do, since their family still frustrates and annoys them. Loved ones evoke strong emotions."

"So emotions might make someone leave?" Peter guessed, trying to continue the conversation and not change topics.

Neal considered that for a moment as he took a sip of his wine. "I think so. Emotions can make someone a danger to those around them."

"I doubt that was the case for you."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Are we talking about me now?"

"Only if you want to," Peter responded with a shrug. He tapped the badge on the table. "Sun hasn't risen yet."

Neal laughed. "I suppose you're right. Honestly, I think it was a case of 'the straw which broke the camel's back'. Lots of little things which built up over time." Neal explained that his family was not the best at displaying emotions. That Jason's casual insults and hurtful words were the first things Neal identified with him. The selfish and guilty feeling he got whenever he asked them to come and hang out with him. He was taking them away from work, school and other friends and they made sure he knew it. Even when they didn't turn up.

It reached a point where Neal was a danger to those around him because he was lost in the guilt and a swirl of negative emotions. He couldn't focus. He let things slip and that had been dangerous.

"I think I was forced to face it when, on eve of the anniversary of my parents' deaths, I invited everyone around to hang out since being alone on that day is... nightmare inducing and-"

Peter's mouth dropped open and he interrupted with, "wait. Has it passed this year?"

Neal froze. "Uh... yeah. Remember the night I turned up on your doorstep saying I just wanted to hang out?" Peter nodded. He had been confused at the time because usually Neal had no trouble inviting himself in. But that time he had been nervous as if expecting Peter turn him away.

"El will want to turn it into an annual thing now," Peter said. "She'll probably make all your favourites."

Neal gave him a small, genuine smile and continued, "but that time, my family had other things on."

"What 'other things'?" Peter questioned, sending a glare out into the darkness on the balcony where Jason was.

Neal shrugged. "I have no idea. I forgot what they told me they were doing instead." He had to edit the next bit because of the vigilante thing. "But I saw them together that night when I went out. I just had to get out of the house and there they all were, gathered together and having fun." Neal wiped at his eyes which had started stinging at the memories. "That image distracted me and something really bad happened." Someone had died and Nightwing hadn't been there to save them. "Bruce was busy and couldn't talk to me... I just couldn't stay."

Peter nodded. That made a sad kind of sense. "So you really are Dick Grayson."

Neal grinned his wide con-grin and spread his arms. "Guilty as charged."

"You know this means Wayne will be hanging around?" Peter said in a grumble. He wasn't interested in having the billionaire hanging around the offices. Plus, Peter remembered something El had mentioned, back when he asked her about Wayne. "Plus, he spends a lot of time with 'reformed' criminals or criminals looking to reform. He'll probably be advocating an early release for you."

"I wish he'd ask," Neal grumbled. "I don't know if I want that."

"Feels a bit like cheating?" Peter probed with a grin.

Neal pointed his wine at the agent. "You did manage to prove that I did the crime. Now I should do the time. Although, a shorter sentence might be interesting."

Peter frowned, shoulders drooping.

Neal grinned. "I'll probably stay in New York for a while. And then see Paris again."

Peter shook his head with a fond smile on his face. "Perhaps you should try letting Wayne talk to you. You can do it at the party tomorrow."

"Ugh," Neal groaned. Peter cut off any compliant with;

"I have to go. So you're coming too. We both can suffer together for once."

Neal groaned louder.


	32. Chapter 32

The party was in full swing. The lights flashed and flickered to the music and people filled the large room. Surprisingly, avoiding Bruce wasn't difficult. The FBI was running interference for Neal. Agent Westley had been assigned to hang around Bruce as his newest 'friend'. Jones was stuck to Neal's side. Neal spent his time watching the crowd for Bruce's bulky form or something of Robin Hoodie. That's why he missed the young man who was half a head shorter than him until the man spoke.

"Bruce says you're FBI." Tim was standing before them, glaring at Neal and holding out a second drink for him to take.

Jones reached out and lifted it away before Neal could touch it.

"He's scared of guns," Neal said, pointing at Jones. He could see Tim wasn't believing it. The frown still marred his features without letting up.

"Don't tell me Wayne's bragging about having the FBI at this party," Jones sighed.

Tim smiled slightly at that. "He is. Besides, it's not like you're blending in. Your suits kind of stand out."

"Brooks brothers suit," Neal confirmed with a nod.

Jones huffed and spoke into the listening device in his watch. "Peter, I'm not sure how long our covers can last."

"I'm aware," Peter responded, his voice travelling from his watch to the earpieces they were all wearing. "Just find something on our young criminal."

"Can I help?" Tim asked, all innocent earnestness. Neal was certain he was the only one who saw the sharp gaze which scanned the crowd. Even so, either intentionally or because of a lack of information, Tim glanced right over the one person in the crowd who could be Scott.

"You can watch," Neal responded shortly, walking over to where he spotted his target. This teenager was looking at the motorcycle with a drink in his hand. Plus, his suit wasn't a suit. It was a shit-hoodie thing which made a shiver run down Neal's back. Who dressed this kid?

"You are in so far over your head, and you have no idea, do you?"

The target looked over at him. "You say something?"

"No, I was just admiring this bike."

"Have we met? Uh, I've seen you somewhere." Neal could feel Peter tense, even through the earpiece. When Neal figured out where Peter was hiding during this operation, he was going to join him and bug him for not sharing.

"Standby in case Caffrey's been made," Peter ordered over the com. "Everybody ready to move."

Neal spun some story about them possibly meeting at the last Wayne party and added in topless mermaids because it sounded like the kind of crazy thing 'Brucie' would have at a party. That brought them back to the star of this party, the motorcycle. Not the least bit street legal.

While they were talking a woman came up and slid into Scott's personal space.

"Hi," she said, "I'm Shannon."

Neal stepped away to converse with Peter. It was definitely this guy.

"How can you be so sure?" Jones questioned when he returned.

Neal looked over to where Shannon was giggling as they talked.

"Beautiful girl gives him her name but he doesn't give one back? It's him." Her actions made Neal frown. "There's something suspicious about her."

"The fact that she seemed more interested in him than you?"

"Not that," Neal commented. He adjusted his response, "not entirely that." As he watched, she dropped something into Scott's drink. "She just put something in his drink," he reported to Peter as he made his way back to the couple. Before he could reach them, Tim knocked into Scott.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" Tim said quickly and a pitch higher than his speaking voice.

The FBI jumped into action a moment later. Shouts of "FBI!" and Peter's orders to shut the exits so nobody gets out rang across the room.

Scott was panicked for all of a second before he used the commotion and confusion to keep people from immediately reacting when he jumped onto the motorcycle and revved it up.

There was a glass window across the hall. The motorcycle roared and people screamed and jumped out of the way as Scott rode across the room and out the window.

"Opps," Tim commented as he stared at the broken glass. He pointed in the direction Scott had gone as he looked back to Jones. "Someone probably should have grabbed him."

"At least we have our would-be-assassin," Jones commented as he slapped some cuffs on 'Shannon'.

* * *

'Shannon' acted innocent. The poison had been potassium cyanide, intended to kill him. Her ring had a hidden compartment for the powder which she claimed hadn't been bought by her. She professed her innocence and a policy of never refusing free jewellery.

'Tacky' was the word Neal thought of that policy. He was thankful that her purse gave them a lead to the person who attempted to have Scott killed. Scott had stolen an expensive item and been caught on a private security camera. Peter connected Scott's appearance to the trophy pictures of Robin Hoodie and the trail lead back to a man called Thomas Carlisle, a person of interest to the FBI and not a good guy.

Meanwhile Neal was supposed to be finding leads to Scott. A call to Mozzie revealed that someone was looking for him and Neal was fine with reaching out to the kid.

What he was not fine with was the welcome waiting for him back at the apartment.

"Hi Dick," Tim said with a grin which had caused board members to tremble in the past. He kicked out the chair across from him, motioning for Neal to sit down.

"I'll stay standing thanks," Neal responded, walking over cautiously and pushing the chair in.

Tim shrugged as if to say 'suit yourself'. "You know, I had to fight Damian and Jason to some see you. They seem to think that too many of us in the room with you and you'll run."

"They're not wrong," Neal responded, tapping his foot with nervous energy. "A physical fight or just a verbal one?"

"I'm just blowing it out of proportion," Tim answered. His smile dropped. It had been so long since he had seen and spoken to Dick and they were just slipping back into normal patterns like no time had passed. Why did that feel wrong? "Why did you leave?"

Neal's heart skipped a beat. He didn't think any of them would think to ask that. But Tim would be the one to turn expectation around. Always curious and not afraid to ask the tough questions. He leaned casually over the back of the chair. He had done that movement a number of times while having late night talks with Mozzie that it wasn't hard to recreate the casualness he usually felt in that motion.

Even so Neal remained silent, staring at the brown top of the table.

"Do you hate us?"

Neal's head snapped up to Tim. Tim's mouth was set into a serious line, as if he had already decided the answer to this would be a positive. Tim was ready to accept that Neal hated them.

In was in the face of the sincerity and certainty, that Neal found his words.

"You're my little brother. But," he wasn't going to cry. Tears built up but didn't not fall as he recalled not only the bad but the good. The reasons he wanted to spend time with his brothers, spiralling into the numerous cancellations and reasons he never got to. He blinked them away but could not hide the watery tremble to his voice. "I hate how I couldn't see you guys often. How stupid and bothersome I felt every single time I wanted to meet up or hang out."

"You're not stupid!" Tim cried out.

Neal shook his head. "I felt it. And I know people said it. 'Idiot' became a fond nickname for me. 'Fool' joined it. That's not even getting into the reluctance people showed whenever I expressed family ties between us."

Tim was frowning hard, eyebrows knotted. "I don't understand. I feel stupid sometimes but I don't leave."

"Then you're stronger than me." Neal sighed and slipped into his seat. "Someone died Tim. Someone died because I was too busy watching you guys fight crime from a distance."

"What?" Tim tried to think of such a time. Neal's eyes looked beyond him, to the past, as he continued;

"You all cancelled on me and then hung out during patrol. I watched because I wasn't invited and wasn't noticed. I wasn't patrolling like I planned to be."

"That's not your fault! Had we met up, none of us would have been out," Tim insisted. "That person would have died either way."

Neal smiled sadly. "There's too much. Too many reasons, built up over time. Too many little words or forgotten things which built up into feelings of stupidity and rejection. Too many times when someone should of been there but wasn't. Of me stupidly feeling alone and then pulling away from you all only to return during the next crisis when I was needed; felt needed. Then the cycle would start again. Why did I keep trying when no one wanted me to? Why was I always hurt when I knew people would probably cancel? It's stupid, isn't it?"

"It's not stupid!" Tim cried. "You're not stupid. We're not stupid, although I feel like it now." He huffed and breathed, trying to regain the calm he had come here with.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Okay, I was not expecting Tim to be the first of the Batkids to get answers out of Neal. However, this is where the characters went and I liked it too much to change it. Anyway, if anyone is interested in giving me prompts - put in [an ask with your prompt](http://quinquinis.tumblr.com/ask) over at my tumblr ([quinquinis](http://quinquinis.tumblr.com/)). Here's what you can submit:
> 
> Fanfiction prompts for Chuck, White Collar, Batman and crossovers between them
> 
> Theme prompts, sentence prompts, any writing prompt you think of or would like to see me do


	33. Chapter 33

Neal sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing about the last few days had gone the way he expected.

"It's… fine," he huffed. He guessed since they had found him again, he probably wouldn't ever be able to fully get away. He would return as he always did.

For once, his thoughts brightened when he thought of his anklet. It was a reason he couldn't leave and the family would have to return to Gotham sometime, leaving him here and hopefully things as they were before.

"I don't think its fine. Are you really a criminal?"

"I haven't killed anyone," Neal responded with a frown.

"I know. I just wanted to know if you're really a criminal or if there's a big conspiracy or something."

Neal couldn't help laughing. He needed to introduce Tim to Mozzie as soon as possible. "I actually did the crime they caught me for."

"Why?" No anger. No blame. Just curiosity.

"I started out small. But, after a while, it just became a bit of a game. 'What could I get away with?' I wondered. And I got away with some amazing stuff," Neal said with a wistful smile as he thought of it. It had been fun.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by his phone going off.

"Jason, what do you want?" he almost growled into it.

"That's rude," Jason responded in a light tone. "I mean, here I am, watching over your little friend, who has tracked down that kid who stole B's bike. Hey, think I should shake the kid's hand?"

"Maybe later," Neal responded.

"Anyway, there are some guys following them."

Neal asked where Jason was and had Tim follow him out. He pulled on a hoodie, ignoring the way it made him itch nervously, and climbed and leapt across buildings to get to where Jason was staked out quickly. Tim followed behind with a grin.

* * *

Neal walked over to Jason and knelt over the edge of the building. Mozzie and Scott were walking down the street, talking.

"Moz, you should have noticed by now," Neal huffed as he spotted their tail. "That's probably from Carlisle. Scott stole his stolen property and now he wants it back. Or Scott dead."

"Whichever comes first, huh?" Tim commented.

"I've got a job to do," Neal said, leaping down. He used the fire escape to get partway down, before flipping off walls and an industrial bin to the ground. He quickly pulled himself into step right behind them.

"You're being followed," he said to Mozzie and Scott, once he was close enough to speak without everyone overhearing.

"Ah, the man himself," Mozzie said. He seemed unperturbed by Neal's sudden appearance. Neal noticed that Scott was staring at him with wide eyes. Neal had seen that look before. Scott had a little hero worship going for him. It was flattering but they had bigger things to focus on.

"Look to the southwest." Mozzie glanced the opposite way. "Your other southwest, Moz."

"In my defence, I normally carry a compass."

Neal grinned at Scott as Mozzie finally spotted their tail. "You ever pull a Scrooge McDuck?"

"What's that?" Scott asked.

Neal pulled up in front of an ATM.

"Step one, hack an ATM."

"How?"

Neal started pressing buttons. "I exploit an unpatched security flaw in their firmware, which gives me admin access. Then I put it into a test loop, and voilà." Money started spitting out of the machine.

"What's step two?"

"Now you run."

People yelled and rushed towards the ATM, grabbing as much money as they could. They created a wall between them and their tail. Once they had some distance, Neal and Mozzie slowed down into a walk.

Scott took a few moments to realise that they weren't with him and stopped.

"This is New York, kid," Mozzie pointed out in his 'mentor voice'. "Once you have distance, walk."

Neal glanced up towards the rooftop. The Scrooge McDuck didn't work on tails with a high vantage point. As such, he could see two black-haired people watching them.

"Sorry."

"Don't say sorry unless you're running a con," Mozzie advised as they made their way down the streets towards June's.

* * *

Neal opened the door to the apartment and was surprised to see it empty. Without missing a beat, he let Scott and Mozzie in.

"Is the FBI here?" Scott asked as he looked around.

"No. But you should turn yourself in," Neal advised. Mozzie snorted from behind him, letting Neal know exactly what he thought of that that.

"You're Neal Caffrey," Scott pointed out. "Are you really saying that's my only choice?"

"How interesting," a voice commented from the other door across the room. Jason leant against the doorway which led back into the wardrobe casually and with a grin on his face. He stared at Neal as he said, "you brought a wanted fugitive into your home?"

Neal shrugged. "It's not the first time."

"-tt- Obviously he's keeping this from the FBI," Damian scoffed in Jason's direction as he shoved his way out of the hallway and past his older brother. "They just hold him back anyway."

Neal took a deep breath. Stay calm.

"Guys, I thought we weren't interfering," Tim said quietly as he popped out.

Scott blinked.

"What do you think?" Mozzie asked, pouncing on their input. "Do we help the kid or turn him in?"

"Help him with what?" Jason questioned.

"He stole a brassiere with stolen diamonds woven all over it," Neal said, "and now its owner is out to kill him."

"Sure, why not?" Jason said with shrug, his brothers instantly agreeing with him.

Neal grit his teeth. He guessed he should make the best of this. Hopefully they hadn't sent her away.

"We're going to need Steph to help," he said.

Damian pulled out his phone and sent a message off. Neal couldn't help thinking that was easy but he knew his challenges were just beginning.

* * *

"You know, I think you're the only one who can convince him to turn himself in," Tim said to Neal while they waited for Step to arrive.

Jason was cooking up pancakes while Damian went over the plan again with Scott and Mozzie, making sure everyone knew what was happening.

Neal was sitting on the couch, as far removed from everything he could be while still in his apartment.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because, you're like his role model."

Neal snorted. "I'm no role model."

"You're the closest he has. Plus, you're helping get him out of trouble."

Neal hummed and glanced over at Scott, who looked bored with Damian's constant going over the plan.

"Ready to get Carlisle off your back?" Neal asked the teenager.

Scott nodded but he didn't smile. He knew it was going to be difficult and that things could go wrong. The door to the apartment burst open and Steph walked in.

"Alright, I was promised a diamond bra and criminals to nab so cough up the goods and let's do this thing!"

Scott's mouth dropped open. "Who is she?"

"Scott, Steph. Steph, Scott. Stephanie is here to help with the plan. Scott is the reason we need the plan."

Steph walked confidently over to Scott. "I hear you can crack a safe. Think you can do it again?"

"N-No reason why not," Scott stammered, face a little red.

* * *

The plan was simple enough. They needed to get Scott and Tim past the security door without getting caught. Neal and Mozzie already had a plan for that.

Neal walked into the building with an open umbrella. Standing strategically where the security camera was, he attempted to close the broken umbrella. It fluttered and was eye-catching while it blocked the camera.

Scott followed Tim in, who used Mozzie's airgun to bust the lock open and get inside. Tim really didn't want to take the stairs so he took himself and Scott up using his grappling hook.

Neal was moved along by security who didn't appreciate the open umbrella inside, even after he explained that it was stuck. Standing outside, he waited to see what would happen. Steph winked at him as she passed, walking inside.


	34. Chapter 34

Steph walked into the lobby of the building where Carlisle's penthouse was. She was dressed in a red overcoat, picked by Jason and acquired by Mozzie.

She walked straight up to the reception counter and smiled at the two men sitting behind it. "I'm here for Mr Carlisle."

"I'm afraid he's not in."

Steph undid the top of her coat, flashing a little of the diamond bra. She repeated what she said, winking and implying she was there for Carlisle's personal time.

"I'll call the office." One of the men picked up the phone.

Scott had used a computer of Tim's to hack the switchboard and answered the phone call. He listened while they said there was a woman there and interrupted before they could tell him more.

"About time! He's been waiting for her. Send her up immediately. How's she look?"

There was a pause on the other end before the man responded, "expensive."

Tim rolled his eyes at that. Put anyone in diamond clothing and they would look expensive. Not that he would say that to Steph's face. She had a reputation for throwing bricks and he liked his face the way it is.

Steph made her way up and opened the door for Tim and Scott.

"Camera's on a loop?" she asked.

"Yes," Scott responded.

"Even the one you missed last time?"

"I double checked," Tim interrupted. "Let's just get this safe open and put the stolen item back." Scott stared at the safe, which had changed since the last time he had broken in. "What is it?"

Scott explained that it wasn't the same safe.

"So? Can't you crack it?" Steph demanded to know with her hands on her hips.

"It's old school. I don't really do old school."

Steph huffed and grabbed a glass off Carlisle's desk. "Learn to roll with the punches kid. Tim! I'm going to crack a safe in a diamond bra, watch the door."

"Got it," Tim sighed, walking over to the door. He muttered, "I'm suddenly starting to think that this was a bad idea. Why is Scott here again? It would be easier without him."

Neal's voice responded over the comm. unit he was wearing. Tim could tell that it had been tuned so that only he heard the response.  _"You told me to be a role model. This is the kind of role model I am."_

"The clean up your own messes kind?"

" _Exactly_. Oh! Peter, what are you doing here?"

"Oh no," Tim groaned. If the FBI was here, they could lose everything.

* * *

Neal snuck his way into the building, using the unlocked door which Tim had opened. He made his way into Carlisle's apartment and blocked Tim's bo staff with the umbrella he was holding.

The umbrella broke.

"I'm running out of those," Neal sighed as he passed it to Tim to hold. He found Steph turning the knob of the safe and Scott with his ear to his phone and pressed up against the door of the safe. "Great. What's the hold up?"

"We're trying but it's not unlocking," Steph said, explaining that Scott had increased the sensitivity of his phone's microphone in order to hear the tumblers fall into place.

"That's because it's a six cylinder safe with two false gates," Neal explained.

"Two what now?" Steph questioned.

"Booby traps," Neal simplified. "Hit one and you have to start all over again."

"Carlisle's on his way up," Tim said.

"Hack the security cameras, kept us updated," Neal said as he watched Steph start all over again.

"One," Steph counted as the gate slid into place. "Two."

"He's coming!" Tim said.

"Might want to speed it up a little," Neal suggested.

"Three," Scott informed them.

"Really?" Steph was surprised.

"Nice going, Scott," Neal praised.

Tim frowned in a curious way. "Hey, Neal? Your FBI agent stopped Carlisle."

"He's buying us time?" Scott questioned in surprise. "Why?"

"Because he's Peter," Neal explained.

"Six!" Steph said triumphantly as the safe slid open.

"Good!" Tim breathed in relief. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

As Peter made his way up with Carlisle, the safe door was left open with the diamonds sitting visible inside it. Carlisle was arrested. Scott vanished and Steph went to track him down, leaving Neal with Tim.

"What did Peter say?" Tim asked as Neal had turned off the mic during their little chat earlier.

"I asked him for an hour. Told him that Scott would turn himself in. He told me I better bring him." Neal put his head in his hands. Scott had bolted and there was no way they would find him in time. Neal hated playing Peter like that, it never felt like winning.

"You never know, he might still turn up."

* * *

Neal sat in the conference room, head in his heads. He gripped strands of his hair between his fingers and contemplated just walking out of here. There was no way Scott was going to turn himself in. Why would he? The choice was between prison and the ability to travel anywhere and do anything. Neal certainly wouldn't have turned himself in.

"You're hurting yourself," a soft voice said. Tentatively, Bruce's hand touched the top of his.

Neal flinched back like he had been burned. His hands uncurled a little, allowing him to feel the sting in his scalp. It felt better than the tear which ran down his cheek.

"Don't- don't pretend that we're okay," he said. "We're not."

"Is this because I didn't search for you? Dick, you made it clear you wanted to leave. What would chasing after you achieve?"

Maybe Peter was punishing him for letting Scott go. It was the only explanation for why the FBI had arranged the room for Neal to make his apologies to Bruce Wayne for the way he acted. The only good thing about this was that Peter had allowed Neal's request for them to be alone.

"Dick," Bruce sighed. He stood up and walked around the table. "I did search for a while. I thought I could find you with determination. I forgot how good you were at hiding." After a pause he added, "how good you were at hiding everything, including your feelings."

"I thought we were here so that I could apologise for shoving you against a wall or something," Neal grumbled. He stared at Bruce's shirt. At no point during this meeting had he looked his old mentor in the eyes.

Bruce reached out and Neal shoved his chair back.

"If you want nothing to do with us, I'll make sure no one bothers you. If you want to be this... conman, Neal Caffrey, forever, then that's okay. We'll leave."

"Of course you will," Neal responded, rolling his eyes. "Everyone's gotten what they want from me, to see me again or whatever, so why wouldn't you all leave?"

"Dick?" Bruce knelt down in front of his chair. "You know we want to stay-"

"Don't lie to me! None of you want to spend time with me! You're all just here out of guilt!" Neal bellowed. He stood up, hands clenched by his side. "I left and you all think you did something wrong so now you hunt me down so you can convince yourselves that I'm the one in the wrong. I'm the one who erased himself and I'm the one who ran away and became a criminal-" Neal's rant was cut off as two strong arms wrapped around me.

"I try with you boys," Bruce sadly murmured into his ear. "I wanted you all to be better at this... talking thing than I am."

Neal gave a dark chuckle. "Well, we're not."

"I guessed that from the way we argue. Dick, I need to know why you left."

Neal frowned as Bruce released him just a little, enough to hold him close but also look him in the eyes. It was the Batman voice Bruce was using now. Not the growling voice which intimidated criminals and created legends but the lesser known voice, remembered by the victims. The voice that comforted someone mugged. The voice which gave the down and out hope for a new life and new work. The voice which promised justice to the wronged and hurting.

"I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't smile, I couldn't be the one who listened to everyone's problems while locking my own inside. I couldn't-" he cursed and gripped Bruce's arms with a stabbing grip. "I couldn't even have faith that someone would be with me though the anniversary of my parents' deaths and the nightmares which come with it."He gave a harsh laugh. "I can't even convince a mostly repentant criminal to turn himself in."

"You never know," Bruce hummed. He pulled out his phone which was displaying cameras around the White Collar office. Scott was walking through the doors with a determined look on his face.


	35. Chapter 35

While glad that Scott had turned himself in, Neal felt slightly ill for the rest of the day. Peter smiled at him and told him he was proud of him for talking with Wayne but it did little to calm the churning in Neal's gut and the throbbing in his head.

"Dick," Peter tried. However, the name felt like a stab.

"Don't!" he bellowed, slamming his hand on Peter's desk. Down below, agents stopped and looked up, wondering what was going on between their boss and his conman. Neal took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He wasn't going to hurt Peter. "I'm not ready to hear that name."

Peter breathed out and walked over. He sat Neal down and took his seat across the desk.

"Things are complicated between you two, I accept that. Perhaps the only reason we met is because things became complicated between you and him. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

Neal rest his head on Peter's desk. "Perhaps. But things are always complicated with my family. I just wish they'd back off a little and let me live my life without feeling guilty."

"Guilty?" Peter questioned. Neal sighed.

"Yeah," he hummed. "It's like... I'm supposed to be there for them but, sometimes I want to do my own thing. They act as if I'm selfish for doing that. For hanging with my friends. Then they get mad when I hover because I have nothing outside of them."

"Sounds a little like you've spoilt them," Peter mused. Neal glared at him. "Come on, I've seen you with Mozzie. When you care about someone, you do anything to make them happy. Even listen through hours of conspiracy theories."

"It's not as difficult as it sounds," Neal pointed out.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "It's okay to feel a little guilty. But don't let that stop you from being a little selfish from time to time." Before Neal could argue, he added, "do you think I don't feel guilty whenever I stay late at work, leaving El alone for dinner? Because I do. I just be a little selfish sometimes."

Neal took a moment to process that. "That's something I might have forgotten how to do."

"Or am slowly remembering," Peter mused. "It's not like you do everything Mozzie wants. Otherwise, I get the feeling you wouldn't be sitting here."

Neal chuckled. That was probably true.

* * *

Neal opened his apartment door to find Jason sitting there with Mozzie. Mozzie was wiring up some kind of small radio and Jason was reading a book with his feet up on the table.

"Neal!" Mozzie greeted him with a grin.

"How'd it go?" Jason asked with a frown.

Neal bit back his first response which was to tell Jason to get out. "Fine," he said shortly instead.

Jason didn't seem convinced but he moved on anyway. There was a reason he was here after all. "So I did a little checking around. Found out who Larssen is said to have worked for."

"How'd you do that?"

"Employee records and things. He worked for Vincent Adler for a time. Strangely enough, I can't find an end time for that job."

"Adler?" Neal questioned. A glance at Mozzie's face told him that this was his first time hearing this too. "As in the Ponzi schemer?"

Jason barked a laugh and almost ended up rocking the chair down onto the floor. Instead, the chair dropped back down with a bang so he was sitting normally. "Come on, I checked employee records. I know you worked for Alder for some time."

"It was a con," Neal responded faintly. "Adler ran before we could make payday."

"He figured Neal out," Mozzie sighed. "A failed mission. Do you really think he is behind this?"

Jason nodded. If he was certain, then there was a high chance that Adler was behind this. Jason would have double, triple, quadruple checked everything.

Neal stared at the thing Mozzie was building. "So, what's so important that a rich Ponzi schemer wants it?"

"Tim's looking into that," Jason commented.

"The important question is, do you tell the Suit?" Mozzie mused.

"I probably should," Neal said. "He's involved as well."

"Maybe you should wait until we know what Adler is after," Jason suggested.

They didn't have to wait long. Tim called up, all excited about what he had found out. He made it to the apartment with the speed of someone who used rooftop routes to cut time. Mozzie looked a little curious at that, face screwing up in concentration as he calculated how long it should have taken Tim.

* * *

"It's a Nazi submarine!" Tim announced with glee.

Jason's face was a bland deadpan as he responded with a flat, "what?"

"The thing the fractal antenna leads to. It's a Nazi submarine." Tim pulled out a map which he spread out on the table. There were U-boat numbers marked over the water. "Towards the end of the second world war, the Nazis sent out a number of U-boats. Their contents unknown. As far as we know, many of them sunk to the bottom of the ocean in unknown places. But the antenna will probably pick up the distress signal from one of these missing U-boats!" Tim was barely breathing as he quickly explained all of this.

Jason let out a low whistle. "What's in there that's worth killing over?"

"Hitler clones," Mozzie responded.

Neal sighed. As exciting as it was, he could probably wash his hands of it. He recalled what Peter said about how he could be selfish. "You guys can look into it. I'm out."

"What?" Tim had frozen and was staring at him with large eyes.

"You guys can handle Adler. I'm not getting mixed up with him again. Besides," Neal pointed to his anklet. "I'd just weigh you down."

"Neal, I'm not going without you," Mozzie said.

"Forget him. He's just leaving us the way he does best," Jason huffed.

"But, what about Alex Hunter?" Tim questioned.

Mozzie and Neal froze at the name.

"I'm sorry, how does she fit into this?" Neal asked.

"You know her?" Jason crossed his arms over his chest.

Tim smiled slightly as he explained, "she's the granddaughter of Michael Hunter, deceased, also known as Gerhardt Vogner. Vogner came to the US just after the war, immigrating here with the insistence that he had information the government would be interested in. He was sent to the detention centre and escaped without telling anyone his secret. Adler was obsessed with tracking this guy down."

Neal and Mozzie shared a look. If Adler was obsessed with tracking Vogner down, what would he do to the man's only living relative? They had no doubt that Alex knew something about this U-boat, otherwise she wouldn't have been so insistent in her search for the music box.

"I hate to say this, but we might need the Suit's help for this," Mozzie said to Neal. "We need to track Alex down."

* * *

Peter looked over the information Jason and Tim had given Neal.

"Practising your forgery skills again?" Peter questioned as he squinted at the handwriting present on the pages. Theories and connections spilled over the margins, the sign of someone who had thought a little too hard and long about the U-boat mystery.

"Actually, Tim found the information. That's his handwriting."

"Tim? As in Timothy Drake-Wayne?"

Neal slumped his shoulders at the pleased tone in Peter's voice. "We didn't make up, he's just hanging around until we get Adler."

"He should leave it to the proper authorities," Peter commented.

"And wait until you have a holiday to check out every lead, even the ones outside of New York. Tim had to go to southern Argentina to get this information."

"What was in Argentina?"

"Adler's estate. The one he fled to when he ran."

"Of course," Peter sighed. Of course Neal was right. Tim had done them a favour. "Alright, let's track Alex down."


	36. Chapter 36

Neal and Peter managed to track Alex to the Conservatory Garden. She showed up on camera going in but not coming out.

"You take the left, I'll take the right," Peter said when they came to a split in the path. It went around but they didn't want to risk missing something. "We'll meet up in the middle."

Neal nodded and started walking. Despite knowing they were getting close, he couldn't help feeling worried about Alex. The closer they got, the more danger she could be in. They could be leading danger right to her without realising it.

A glint of gold caught Neal's eye. A Rolex, shining in the light of the sun. Attached to a dark-haired man in a suit. Neal walked over towards Bruce.

"Why are you here?" he questioned.

"The FBI started running around searching for Alex Hunter, a known associate of Neal Caffrey," Bruce responded. "Also, I had a look at Tim's notes on this music box and U-boat mystery."

Neal frowned. That explained why Bruce hadn't returned to Gotham but it didn't explain why he was here, in the garden at the same time as him.

It was almost like he knew they were there. But how?

Neal was suddenly very aware of the weight around his ankle. "You!" he growled, feeling violated and betrayed. "You hacked my anklet!" He hadn't thought Bruce would do something like that when there was no reason to.

Bruce shrugged. "It's a convenient tool for knowing where you are." Logical, yes, but not good enough. It was just another intrusion into Neal's life.

"This is my life! Not something for you to spy on! I can handle this myself!"

"Neal-"

"No!" Neal bellowed, shutting off Bruce's response. "This is not okay! I didn't ask for anyone's help and I certainly didn't ask for you to follow my every movement using something you shouldn't have access to!"

Neal turned and continued walking. He reached the end of the garden and looked around. Peter wasn't there.

"Peter?" he called out, worried.

"Neal!" Bruce was the one who responded, quickly stepping up behind him. Neal ignored him.

His phone rang. Peter's number.

"Peter!"

"Not quite." Neal's blood went cold. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a couple years.

"Adler."

Bruce put a hand on his shoulder and pointed towards the gate. Sitting just beyond it was a black limo. The door was open and Neal could see Adler sitting inside with Peter across from him.

He was pointing a gun at the agent.

"Join us Neal. And bring your friend," Adler said before hanging up.

Neal turned to Bruce, who inclined his head in agreement. They slipped into the car, Neal sandwiched between Bruce and Peter and wishing to be anywhere but here.

"Neal," Adler greeted him. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you again."

Neal crossed his arms and stared back, utilising his version of the Batstare which he hadn't used since he was last in spandex.

Adler frowned and turned to Peter. "You have the key to Neal's anklet. Give it to him." Peter frowned disapprovingly but passed Neal the key. "Neal, remove your anklet."

"Where's Alex?" he questioned instead.

"You can ask her when you see her. If you follow my directions."

Neal undid the anklet and Adler tossed it out the window. Then he smiled and pulled out some glasses.

"Now, a decision." Alder turned to Bruce. "I didn't plan for you Mr. Wayne but you can share Neal's."

"Alcohol?" Bruce questioned in a quick and high pitch which matched his 'Brucie' persona. "Are we celebrating something?"

Adler frowned at Bruce before turning back to Neal and Peter. "In those glasses is a combination of chloral hydrate, ethanol, and iced tea. It'll put you out until we get where we're going."

Peter and Neal shared a look. Neal felt Bruce shift back.

"We're not playing this game," Peter said. Neal ignored that and Bruce's slight incline of his head, agreeing with the agent.

"You might find the answers you're looking for," Adler said.

Neal knew there wasn't much of a choice. Adler had Alex. He had killed people to get them there. If this kept them alive and gave them information to stop him, it was worth it. Neal reached for the glass. He downed half of it before passing it to Bruce, his vision already fading and an arid taste in the back of his throat. He knew Bruce and Peter would take it. There was no way they would leave him to face Adler alone.

* * *

Neal woke to a stinging sensation on his face and dark eyes and hair swimming in his vision.

"Alex," he breathed in relief. He was glad she was okay.

"This is part of a plan, right?" she responded quickly. She was scared. "You let yourselves get caught, then the FBI rides to the rescue?"

"You got the first part right."

Peter nodded when Alex turned to him for confirmation.

"Where are we?" Bruce asked, reminding them that he was also present and lying on the ground near Peter. Neal did not enjoy the reminder that he was there.

"In a warehouse," Alex responded. "You're Bruce Wayne, aren't you? Why are you here?"

"Like you said, I let myself get caught," Bruce responded with a grin as he made his way to his feet. Neal was the only one who knew how true that was. Alex rolled her eyes and looked over at him with a disbelieving look. She was surprised to see Neal wasn't thinking the same and instead was keeping an careful eye on Bruce.

"Mr. Wayne. I hope you aren't thinking of involving yourself and doing something that gets us all killed," Alex said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bruce responded with his hands raised in the 'no weapons' position. "Although I am curious as to why we've been gathered."

"While I have no idea why you're here, I know why Neal is here and can take a guess at Peter," Alex said, motioning towards the window.

Sitting in the warehouse below them was a huge, grey, barnacle covered submarine.

"Yes, we found it," Adler said from the open door. He walked in, a bodyguard standing by his side. "Incredible, isn't it?"

"It's something," Neal muttered. Bruce was glaring at Adler's back.

Adler rambled about the history of the U-boat and how it's crew had to abandon it off the coast. He revealed that his father had been part of the crew, which explained how he knew it existed. Then he got to why Neal was there.

"The crew wired it with explosives and I need someone to disarm them and get in. Luckily, I have you Neal."

Neal frowned. "And if I refuse?"

Alder shrugged his shoulders. "You won't. I may have three hostages and you may say you're doing it to protect them, but we both know why you'll open it." He paused for dramatic effect. "You want to know what's inside." And, curse him, he was right.

Neal decided to just do what he wanted. Maybe Bruce could take care of Alder while he opened the submarine.

"I'm going to need some tools."

* * *

Neal managed to figure out what he believed was the way to get into the submarine. It was just him and Peter sitting on top of the sub with Bruce, Alex, Alder and his bodyguard friend standing in the room above them. They would hopefully be safe if Neal messed this up and it exploded.

He took a deep breath. "Peter."

"Yeah."

"Ready?"

Peter nodded and Neal cut the black wire to the lock control panel. The number pad lit up and a countdown timer flashed to life.

"That's a timer." Neal breathed in, trying to avoid panicking. They were still alive, nothing had blown up, he could do this. They just needed the password. It was connected to a legend.

"MIDAS!" Alex called over the intercom. "My grandfather told me to remember that story!"

Neal shrugged. It couldn't hurt. He keyed it in and the timer stopped. The submarine opened.

In unison, they breathed a sigh of relief. Neal grinned at Peter before climbing down. The hard part was over.

"If I see jars of fetuses with little black moustaches l'm turning around," Peter muttered as they made their way to the cargo hold.

"I don't think this is the one carrying the Hitler clones," Neal commented.

"Are you worried about Adler?" Peter asked. Adler was listening in on them, so he couldn't be specific. Was Neal worried about Bruce?

"No," Neal responded truthfully. Bruce could take care of himself.

They entered the hold and cracked open a box. It contained priceless pieces of lost art. Peter let loose a quiet curse from behind Neal. They opened another box and there was gold and jewels inside.

A literal treasure hoard.


	37. Chapter 37

Neal smashed the camera which gave Adler his view of what they were doing.

"Okay, I bought us a couple of minutes," he said, turning to Peter for a plan.

Peter's eyes were on the door, the way they came in. "Adler's not going to be happy."

Neal waved that worry off. "He can't shoot us in here without risking hitting himself or blowing us all up and he'll cool off when he sees the treasure." Peter gave him a curious look. Neal realised he was talking a little more like Dick, vigilante, than Neal Caffrey. "Anyway, the only way Alder could have found this sub is if he built the antenna."

"Like Mozzie's fractal?" Peter questioned, looking around. He spotted a panel on the wall which sported the symbol. "Like this?"

"Just like that," Neal said, breaking the panel open. Inside was the emergency beacon. "If I hook this up to a better power source and if Mozzie has finished his antenna, then he should be able to track us and lead the FBI right to us."

"There's a lot of 'ifs' in that plan Neal," Peter commented.

The sound of footsteps pounded towards them. Adler's bodyguard walked in first, Adler coming in behind. The man's face lit up when he saw the treasure.

"Well done gentlemen," he said, motioning for them to leave. "A treasure for the ages."

The bodyguard stepped towards them and Neal threw up in hands in surrender and started to walk out of the sub. Peter had the distress signal box clutched in his hands as they climbed out and were guided over to where Bruce and Alex were standing.

"Well?" Alex questioned in anticipation. They all knew she was talking about the stuff inside the sub.

"It's amazing," Neal said, explaining some of the things inside. He noticed Bruce's jaw tighten.

"So how are we going to get out of this situation?" Bruce asked with a glance at the other two guards watching them. That made three guards in all and Adler they would have to deal with in order to escape.

Adler's voice crackled over the radio. "We'll take it from here. Get rid of those loose ends. Take them for a ride."

"No," Alex said. "I'm not going back in that limo."

The bodyguards looked confused for a moment, turning to the radio for answers.

"Okay," Adler sounded just like he did whenever he had to order lunch; bored but pleasant enough. "Shoot them. And then get a mop or something."

Bruce shared a look with Neal. Neal loosened his shoulders and shifted around Alex. He also subtly stretched his muscles. It had been a while since he had been expected to get the drop on a couple of criminals.

"Now, hold on," Peter said, whatever he was about to say cut off as Neal and Bruce struck.

Neal grappled with his bodyguard for a moment, slipping behind him, kicking his knee in and slamming his face into the ground. Bruce tossed him some cord he got from somewhere and Neal tied him up and tossed him over with the other unconscious guard.

"Neal, I thought you couldn't fight," Alex commented. Neal looked to the ground, embarrassed and worried about Peter's reaction. From what little he had seen, Peter looked shocked and not in a good way.

"I don't like to fight. Doesn't mean I don't know how," he responded.

Peter gave him a suspicious look but had to put his questions on hold until Alex was further away. He had a feeling that Neal's ability to fight came from Dick Grayson's experiences.

"What now?" Alex asked. She eyed the sub suspiciously. The group shifted closer to the large structure, hoping that it would buy them some cover for when Adler left.

"We grabbed the distress signal box," Neal explained, pointing at the box Peter was carrying. "We just need a battery to hook it up and we can send out a distress signal."

Bruce patted down his pockets. With a shrug, he commented, "I forgot my phone so it'll have to do."

Neal wasn't fooled by the excuse. Unlike Alex, who started looked around and followed Peter to pull a battery out of a nearby truck, he knew that Bruce tried to always be in contact with someone. Usually Alfred.

"I was after privacy while I spoke to you," Bruce explained when he questioned the lack of phone. Neal frowned.

"Why would you want that?" It was putting them in danger and Bruce had to have predicted this turn of events as being possible.

Bruce started climbing the sub. "It'd be better to take Adler and his bodyguard out the moment they emerge," he said.

Neal frowned at Bruce's attempts to dodge the question. He caught Peter's eye and pointed that he was going to follow Bruce. Peter nodded and then returned to removing the battery and figuring out how everything connected.

"Don't change the subject," Neal said. He stepped across the top of the sub, towards the hatch.

"I thought you would prefer to speak in private," Bruce said.

"I honestly don't care either way," Neal said. "And it's hurting us right now. I'd almost be happy to see Red Hood or Red Robin drop in."

"It's not like we don't know where we are." Bruce was correct. He and Neal had not been knocked out. While faking it, they had used the turns the limo took to figure out where they were. "It's only a matter of contacting them."

"Great," Neal said with a roll of his eyes. "Phone them then," he said, knowing that Bruce could not. Not even the bodyguards were carrying phones, probably just in case Neal or Alex managed to pick their pockets or something.

* * *

There was a heart-stopping moment when Adler and his bodyguard emerged from the sub. Then chaos reigned for a couple of moments. The bodyguard went for his gun, looking around. Neal and Bruce quickly closed the gap between them. Neal took the bodyguard down quickly while Bruce did the same with Adler. Once they were taken care off, they climbed back down.

"Got it running!" Alex called out. Peter was smiling as he wiped sweat off his forehead. The signal was up and running for anyone who was able to look for it.

Which, as far as they knew, was Alder and maybe Mozzie.

"What do you think?" Neal commented to Peter. "Is help on the way?"

"No idea," Peter said. "I'm just hoping Diana and Jones were able to think of something."

"They're going to need Mozzie's help."

Peter sighed. "I'm going to owe them."

Bruce gave him a confused look but didn't ask why. "What are you going to do with the contents of the sub?" he asked.

"The FBI will deal with it. The works will need to be verified and then the original owners tracked down. And in the case the original owners are deceased, then living descendants will need to be located."

"What a waste," Alex sighed. She eyed the sub as if her looks to transport its contents to her hideouts.

"You know it's real now," Neal said. "You've seen it with your own eyes, the story your grandfather told."

Alex's frown loosened a little but she still wasn't completely content with the way things had gone. Neal understood a little. She had searched for years and now other people, who had only just learnt about this treasure, were swooping in to decide what happened to it. However, that was the job. Sometimes, a con just didn't work out, no matter how much time you put into it.


	38. Chapter 38

Neal and Alex sat around while Peter and Bruce talked, whiling away the time until the cavalry arrived. Neal found himself looking over at Bruce, who was offering to have his company supply whatever resources the FBI needed. He seemed to be interacting well with Peter. It itched at his skin to see them getting along. Which also bothered him because he should want Peter and Bruce to get along. They were both important to him.

Neal walked towards the exit.

"I'm going to open up the doors and see if anyone comes," he called out. He could feel curious glances against his back but no one tried to stop him.

His ankle felt weightless.

He could run. The thought appeared suddenly. He could run and leave Bruce and the rest of them in the dust. Leave before they leave him.

"Hey." Neal spun, fist striking. Bruce caught it effortlessly. "Is that how you treat me, even after this?"

Neal glared. "I knew it. You're only here to make yourself feel better." He could see the shock on Bruce's face. A slight widening of the eyes and lips parting like he wanted to say something. Was he surprised that Neal said it or that Neal figured it out? "You come here, make yourself look good, get me to say sorry for leaving or something and then you and the rest of them go back to Gotham."

"Neal…" Bruce's voice wavered. "Dick, no. That's not it at all."

"Then what is it?" he bellowed, anger roaring through him. He  _hated_  games. "What changed?"

"Nothing changed."

Neal couldn't believe that. "Then what do you want from me?" he cried out. "You all," he choked and blinked. His eyes were hot and stinging. "You all only see me when you want something!" Bruce pulled at the arm he was holding, yanking Neal towards him. Neal tensed as Bruce wrapped his other arm around him. It was awkward and they were dirty and sweaty but it was the only way Bruce could think of communicating how wrong Neal was about Bruce's feelings.

Bruce said quietly, "you managed to erasure yourself and disappear and it took me too long to realise. Way too long. I should have realised. I forgot what day it was. I thought you were over it."

Neal took a sharp breath in. Bruce squeezed him tighter.

"I know. I should have known. Anniversaries are the worst." Bruce loosened his arms and Neal pushed out of the embrace. He had to force himself to do it. It was too tempting to stay in Bruce's arms and indulge. Too dangerous. "I know," Bruce said before he could say anything. "It doesn't change anything. But, we changed, Dick. We changed because we had to. Because we lost you."

Neal sighed. "I want to believe that. I do." Wanting to believe and wanting to not be hurt again felt like being torn in half. He glanced around for a way out of this conversation and felt his heart lighten as an unmarked white van pulled up. The back doors opened and Mozzie came bouncing out.

"Neal!"

"Mozzie!" Neal returned the joyful cry.

"Did you find it,  _mon frère_?" Mozzie asked.

"Where's Peter?" Diana asked.

Neal pointed inside. "The answer to both your questions."

Mozzie stared at the submarine with almost childish glee. Peter sighed upon seeing the bespectacled man's glee.

"No. You're not to go inside. I'm tired, Neal's tired and we're going back after calling in to get this place secured."

* * *

The place was secured and the men taken in custody. However, Neal and Peter had been long gone before it was realised that someone had slipped away.

Vincent Adler had managed to escape. It didn't surprise Neal as much as worry him. Adler was the one most likely to take some form of revenge.

Mozzie thought the same. Neal let his friend spend nights around his place. He accepted the new burner phones without complaint. He wondered about the new identities Mozzie had forged.

"Victor? Really Moz? I don't feel like a Victor."

"That's never stopped you before," Mozzie pointed out. "You did better than I. I'm Bob."

"Hi, Bob," Neal responded in a deadpan. Then he got serious. "Really, we don't need this. It's not like I can go anywhere with this on my ankle." His anklet was back. He got used to it again and wondered if he would regret giving away his ability to run.

" _Mon frère_ , you might want to."

Neal frowned and shook his head. Why was Mozzie so certain?

"I'm not blind. Red Hood happens to have a recognisable hood. Red Robin is known to work with him and has a base in New York." Mozzie paused for a moment before adding, as if it was news to Neal, "they've been following me."

"Moz-"

"Think carefully before you respond, Dick."

Neal blinked. Mozzie rarely called him Dick. There was some kind of importance behind it. "Are you calling my name or insulting me?"

"Your name, obviously," Mozzie responded in an instant. Then he thought about it. "People use your name to insult you?"

That's not it, Neal wanted to say. However, it was. Jason was the main one but the others were certainly not strangers to jokingly calling him 'dick'. Damian was the only one who didn't do it, mostly because he called Dick by his last name, 'Grayson'.

"So, what about Red Robin and Hood?" he asked.

Mozzie gave him a look that said that part of their conversation wasn't over. "I looked into them. Realised a couple of things."

"Like?"

"Where does the name 'Nightwing' even come from?"

That came from nowhere. "What?"

"Nightwing. That was you. So where did the name come from?"

Neal was so blindsided that there was no other way to answer than the truth. It was Mozzie, after all.

"The name came from a story Superman told me once. It's the name of a hero from Krypton."

Mozzie grinned. "I knew it!"

"You knew that Nightwing came from a story?"

"No! I knew there was a conspiracy behind it all!" Mozzie ranted. He started ranting about the conspiracy of Bruce Wayne and the Batman along with Robin, the multiple Robins theory, "and how many Robins has Batman been through? And did they really die like everyone thought?" and the theories on which Robins became who and why they changed.

"Where are you getting these things?" Neal questioned. While some where accurate, others were strange and ridiculous. Like the one about how Batman was a vampire.

"IRC. And forums." Mozzie showed him one of the chats. Two users were appearing to fight with each other over theories, 'madhunter303' and 'moneyrider'. Neal took a deep breath.

"They're both Bruce."

"Bruce Wayne? Batman? Really?" Mozzie questioned with a disbelieving frown. "Both of them?"

"That's right. I was there when he posted them." Neal smiled as he remembered. Damian had been annoyed and didn't really understand. Neal had been amused and a little shocked that Bruce would connect himself to Batman, even if the goal was for everyone to find it ridiculous when he was done.

"So Batman didn't kill Bruce Wayne and replace him with a replica?"

"No."

Mozzie made a disappointed sound. "And I liked that theory."

Neal nodded in sympathy.

* * *

Mozzie was the closest thing to family Neal had. However, he had learnt a lot from Dick's family. He didn't let Mozzie talk him into running away. Even though he wanted to and Mozzie was enabling it. He wouldn't bend to family's will again.

While Neal didn't have the courage to ask where the money for their 'escape' was coming from, he had the courage to stay for a little while longer.

Mozzie's words seemed almost prophetic when Neal returned home from work the next day to find Bruce Wayne sitting on his bed with the forged ID and burner phone in his hands.

"What are these for?" Bruce asked in a calm tone.


	39. Chapter 39

"Guess," Neal responded. After all, Bruce Wayne was supposed to be the world's greatest detective.

Bruce frowned at him. He stood up and placed the phone on the bed behind him.

"There are a number of reasons you might have a burner phone," Bruce said. He ran a hand over the ID. "However, this is a clean ID. Neal, what have you done?"

Neal felt anger bubble up inside him. Sure, Mozzie had gotten them clean identities which normally meant stealing the name of a deceased child. However, Mozzie had told him how the idenities came to be.

 _'It's like stepping into someone else's shoes, even though they and their shoes never existed,'_  Mozzie had said. He had paid top dollar for farmed identities, identities registered as if they were real babies decades before.

"What do you think I did?" Neal demanded to know.

"I don't know," Bruce admitted. "This level of identity theft can usually only be achieved by taking the name of a deceased person." Bruce looked at Neal, analysing his reaction to his words. Neal waited for him to continue. "I know you're not the same kid I took in." That stung. "But you wouldn't hurt someone like that. Even if they never found out that you used their deceased's name, you wouldn't."

"You sound certain of that."

"Stop testing me," Bruce growled. "I know you wouldn't."

Neal wanted to lie. He wanted to say he did. He also wanted to tell the truth.

Why was it so difficult to talk to Bruce? He could make conversation flow with almost everybody. Except his guardian.

"Do you want my final deduction?"

Neal nodded mutely, his lips pursed in a thin line.

"You're planning to run."

Neal's jaw ached a little as he stopped clenching his teeth to say, "I'm a conman. I'm always ready to run."

"You shouldn't need to be. We're here to back you up."

"Back me up against what? The FBI? I'm doing just fine, thanks." Neal pulled his shirt off and stormed over to his easel. He grabbed the pallet by the side and sat down. Ignoring Bruce seemed to be the best option. Even now, he could see Bruce moving towards the door out of the corner of his eye.

Then Bruce stopped. Neal had pulled off the white sheet he had covering his painting. Neal examined his brushes for a moment before grabbing the one he needed and beginning to gather and mix his paint.

Neal was determined to keep working until Bruce left. His painting of the Chrysler Painting borrowed from the styles of a number of artists and it was almost finished. He was proud of it.

* * *

Instead of leaving, Bruce took a seat at the table behind him. After half an hour, Neal sighed and turned around.

"Aren't you going to leave?" he demanded to know.

Bruce shook his head. "That's a nice painting. Is it your work?"

"Yes." Usually Neal could say more, talking for hours about the artists which influenced it, other works based around the Chrysler building and the choices he made with lines and colour. However, talking to Bruce meant none of those things were coming to mind.

"I was unaware that you knew how to paint works of art."

Neal clicked his tongue in a way which often reminded him of Damian. "I'm a forger. Not a painter."

"I don't see a difference right now."

Neal sighed. "My own stuff is terrible. I'm much better at forging the masters."

"Sure. But the work of famous artists wasn't really famous until they died."

Neal blinked at Bruce. "You're overgeneralising."

Bruce shrugged. "The situation calls for it. And what you're painting looks good, much better than that stuff Alfred insists we decorate the manor with when people come over."

"I thought that was just to make you look like another rich socialite."

Bruce agreed. "However, I like what you're painting there. I could buy it when you're done?"

Neal laughed. "You'd never get a 'Neal Caffrey' off the ground. People know I'm a forger."

"Then they know that they're getting the best. Forgery used to be considered a great skill. A display of talent."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Is this the  _'Van Gogh painted 21 copies of his favourite works'_ thing?"

"Good. You remember that discussion."

"Lecture. It was a lecture. Like, every little fact I didn't need to know whenever you took me to the art gallery. Which was often, since they hosted a couple of your fundraisers and galas."

For a moment, Bruce's lips curled into a smile which Neal unintentionally echoed. Then they seemed to remember that they weren't Batman and Robin or even Batman and Nightwing anymore and the smiles dropped off their faces. Neal's first and then Bruce's.

"Just remember, if you want to sell, I'm willing to buy," Bruce said.

It wasn't until after Bruce had left that Neal realised he had taken the ID and phone with him. Neal had to call Mozzie on June's phone to let him know to not call the burner.

* * *

In a shocking turn of events, Mozzie called the burner. On purpose. Knowing that it would connect him to Bruce Wayne. Neal didn't realise until he walked into the apartment with Peter on his heels. Peter admitted on the drive to the apartment after work that Mozzie requested he escort Neal into his apartment and stay if he chose. Neal instantly knew something was up. There was no reason Mozzie would choose that phrasing if he wanted Peter to come to the apartment for case reasons or conspiracy theories.

Bruce sat at the table. Alfred was making tea in the kitchen. Peter seemed to find the presence of a butler strange, but he didn't comment. Instead he told Neal to sit down.

"This seems like an intervention," Neal pointed out.

"Not for you," Bruce grumbled.

"A little for you," Peter ammended. Neal glared at him. "You can't just ignore your family Neal. I know they upset you but that's because you care about them."

Neal grit his teeth and ended up so tense that he flinched when Alfred lightly touched his shoulder.

"Tea for you, Master Dick." Alfred placed another cup in front of Bruce and one in front of Mozzie. A cup of coffee was placed in front of Peter, which Bruce eyed enviously.

"So, if this isn't an intervention for me, who is it for?"

"It is an intervention for Master Bruce," Alfred said, remaining standing while everyone else was seated around the table.

Mozzie was seated at the head of the table, close to Neal and Bruce. He was frowning and he sipped at his tea before bringing everyone to order.

"I called this 'intervention', as you have dubbed it, because Mr. Wayne thinks he can just waltz in and not address any of the reasons Neal left but still get his son back. Well, no. As Neal's new family and friends, the responsibility falls to us to-" Peter raised his hand to interrupt.

"You gave me the speech on the phone and no one else needs to hear it. Basically, you and I are addressing the reasons Dick became Neal in the hopes of mending bridges."

"Why?" Neal questioned, looking between his two friends.

"Because we don't want you to run," Peter said.

"You don't," Mozzie muttered under his breath. "But I guess, establishing ourselves as great conmen won't happen if we have to worry about Bruce Wayne on our tail."

"It's fine," Neal insisted. "We're working things out."

"It's not," Bruce admitted. His voice was soft but it still carried. "Dick. I know I messed up but, this wasn't about one mistake was it?"

"Don't forget about your tea," Alfred reminded Neal right after Bruce finished speaking. Neal stopped clenching his teeth, ignoring the pain in his jaw from holding it tight, and took a sip of tea.

"Tim made a list. A list of things you mentioned when Stephanie and Damian kidnapped you and to Tim himself when you spoke." Bruce glanced to Mozzie. "The way you were treated before you ran away, that wasn't a one-time occurrence, was it?"

"Do you want the honest answer or the feel good answer?" Neal responded after taking another sip of tea. It was soothing. Peter's hand gripped his shoulder for support.

"Neal, this is your chance. Answer his question."

Chance for what? Neal wanted to ask. "I think you're all busy people."

"Neal."

"Dick."

"If you're not going to answer the question, I'll answer it for you," Mozzie warned.

Neal sighed. He didn't want to know how much information he had let slip or the conclusions Mozzie's was able to draw from it.

"No. It wasn't a one-time occurrence."


	40. Chapter 40

Dick rested his head on the desk. His stomach churned and his head kept going around in circles. Not even the buzz of the office could keep him from sinking into his melancholy thoughts.

The fact that he was thinking of himself as 'Dick' again was a bad sign. His thoughts kept turning back to his talk with Bruce. The silent presence of Mozzie and Alfred had him saying more than he had ever allowed himself to say.

He didn't really try to please everyone around him, did he? Mozzie suggested that it was an unconscious trait Dick possessed, before admitting to taking advantage of it himself a few times.

But Dick could say 'no', couldn't he? Or was that just Neal? Something that Neal had allowed himself to indulge in because he was a thief so, not a completely good guy.

He wondered what his family thought. Bruce had most certainly told them that they had been mistreating him back then. Mozzie used the phrase 'heaped abuse on him because of his forgiving nature' and Peter said that it was 'emotional manipulation'. Dick didn't know what to think. He loved his family, it was why it was difficult to leave them. But they didn't need him. He tried to be needed but their actions showed they didn't need him or care about him.

He didn't try to please them. He just wanted some proof that they cared.

His head throbbed as he ended up back at the start. He tried to think about the case in front of him but his thoughts continued.

He wanted proof that they cared and the best way to do that was to always be available to them. It was to do what they needed, right?

_Right?_

"Me-yow, someone's thinking a little too hard."

Dick's head jolted up. An athletic-looking woman in a black dress stood across from him. She placed her hands on his desk and leaned towards him.

Neal shifted as far back into the chair as he could. Selina grinned at him.

"You know your father's been looking for you," she purred.

"I know," Dick said through gritted teeth.

She paused for a moment before frowning. "This is why he's in New York." The agents nearby began to notice Neal's distress. "He didn't tell me he found you. Dick, have you been with the FBI the whole time?"

"Not the whole time," Dick admitted with a frown and a glance at the surrounding agents. Selina was keeping her voice low but there was still a chance people had overheard the name she called him. Agent Travers was looking between them like a puzzle he needed to solve.

"Neal." And like that, Peter was there. He looked to Agent Travers. "Put her in room one."

The agent nodded and started moving Selina.

"Hey! I wasn't done speaking," Selina said as he started to gently push her. "I thought this was a questioning, not an arrest. Do I need to call my lawyer?"

"You're not being arrested Ms. Kyle," Peter said to her. "But you are free to call your lawyer if you wish. Just follow Agent Travers to room one and he'll get you a phone."

Selina gave Dick one last look before going with the agent.

"Neal, are you okay?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded.

"You're pale," Diana said. "Did your Caffrey charm fail you before the suspect?"

"Suspect?" Jones questioned. "I thought it was all but confirmed."

"You won't catch her," Dick muttered quietly. "Whatever she did, she won't get caught."

"Then we might need you to help us," Peter said quietly. It was the same tone he had used the previous night when Neal couldn't find the words to speak to Bruce. "Are you up to it?"

"No," Dick responded. "Not against her."

Jones looked surprised while Diana looked worried. Before he could react, Peter's hand covered his forehead.

"It is slightly warm. But not warm enough for going home sick," Peter mused.

"I don't want to go home either," Dick said. Bruce was still there.

Diana pulled Peter away, in the direction of room one. Dick wasn't fooled. Although she made it look like they were going just because they were questioning Selina, he knew Diana was talking to Peter about him. Her eyes slid over to them as they walked.

* * *

Dick took his work up to Peter's office. It was becoming a habit for him to retreat here when he couldn't stand the eyes of the office.

Whenever it came to his family, he always felt like a mess. Being alone was boring but he did manage to get things done efficiently. Being with his family was less lonely but he seemed to become unable to complete basic tasks.

Sitting in Peter's office, he managed to solve a case and breath new life into two cold cases. Finally, he gave in a little and asked Jones about the current case Selina had been pulled in on. Apparently, some kind of scarab had been stolen in Egypt, shipped to New York and Selina was their top suspect. She had recently come back from a trip to Egypt and had a bit of a history, popping up as a main suspect in a number of cases.

There was also a the small detail of her arrest history in Gotham.

"A scarab?" Dick questioned as he looked over the case. "That doesn't seem like Selina's usual MO."

"That's for sure," Jones said. "So, do you think she's really Catwoman? I mean, she's on record as having a thing for cats."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Why did people fixate on the Catwoman thing? "Is it the catsuit?" That thing had been in his dreams as a teenager, making a confusing time even more confusing.

"Wow. Not exactly a comment I'd expect from you, Caffrey," Diana said. "Anyway, since you're interested, do you want to come with me to watch Peter make her squirm?"

"No," Dick responded, closing the file. "I don't think she did it."

"Then you're going to want to tell Peter that," Diana point out. "Which means facing her. Do you have a problem with her?"

"Yes," Dick admitted. "She's very good at reading people so I'd rather not be in the same room as someone like her."

"You don't have to get in the room. Just knock and get Peter out," Jones pointed out. He started walking, guiding Dick along with him. Dick allowed it, although he was wondering if this was the kind of thing Mozzie had been talking about.

* * *

Selina was frowning and lounging back against the chair. Peter was standing behind his chair, resting his weight on it as he calmly explained something. Dick took a breath and knocked on the door.

"Wait there," Peter said as he left.

"Not like I have anywhere else to be," Selina responded smoothly. "And hello Dick."

Dick ducked further back.

"Any idea how she knew it was you?" Peter questioned.

An agent would have walked in? A lucky guess? "I'm not sure." He explained that he believed Selina was being set up.

"By who?" Peter questioned, eyebrows wrinkling in thought. Diana briskly walked over to them with a folder in her hands.

"Suspect number 2. Raquel Laroque. An Egyptologist by day and fence by night," Diana said, opening the file. The picture of a young, bushy haired woman glared back at them. "Has a bit of a competing history with Ms. Kyle in there and in the market for a restorations tech."

"Oh, look at that," Peter crowed. "A smuggler too. She hides the priceless artefacts inside x-ray-proof and highly durable moulds which make them look like Egyptian gift-shop tchotchkes."

Dick looked over the pictures, showing the smuggled object inside the mould. "Sexy. I guess she needs the restoration tech to extract the artifact without damaging it?"

"Exactly," Diana said with a smile. They could get to her like that.

Peter sighed and closed the file. "I guess I should go tell Ms. Kyle that she can go."

"You'll get her eventually, Boss."

"Perhaps. She tends to stay out of New York though." Peter gave Dick a pointed look, knowing that he was somehow connected to her presence.


	41. Chapter 41

Neal trudged up the stairs, his eyes heavy. Peter had been subtly questioning him about his relationship to Selina. Neal had played dumb as much as he could without lying to Peter. By the end of the day, Peter had confirmed for himself that Neal and Selina had a history through a mutual acquaintance. He guessed that it might be Bruce Wayne but Neal had been able to deflect because technically, he had met Catwoman first.

Opening his door, he sighed at the sight of Bruce and Selina talking at the table. Neal eyed his bed with envy, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep until they left.

"Why are you here?" he asked them both.

"I never left," Bruce pointed out. He had his laptop sitting closed on the counter.

"I asked a lovely, young agent to give me the address of Neal Caffrey's current place of residence," Selina responded, curling a finger in the string strap of her top.

Neal was going to find that agent and bury them under paperwork and training in keeping confidential information confidential.

"You could have called me instead of conning people trying to do their job," Bruce grumbled.

Neal glared at him. That was the part he took issue with? Not the almost-stalking of his son by his ex.

"This place is in no state for visitors, please leave," he said reflexively.

The couple shared a look before looking around the almost-spotless apartment. Not only had Alfred done a clean the night before but June also hired people to clean the rooms.

Or maybe it was almost-spotless because of the lack of vigilante gear. Dick had a habit of tossing that stuff to the ground and making a mess.

"Look, I've been framed. Like it or not, I know you're my best chance of clearing my name," Selina pointed out. "I don't care what the apartment looks like."

"The FBI let you go. Just don't do anything incriminating and it'll be fine." He frowned at her for a moment before picking up a book and plopping himself down on the couch.

"But Richard," Selina purred, "Raquel Laroque framed me. You understand that I need to make sure she gets caught now."

He did but he wasn't going to admit it out loud. It had been a little how he felt about Scott Rivers. Not to mention that one time a college professor had been ripping of crimes from his syllabus, including one Neal Caffrey had pulled off.

Selina tried one last argument. "This is the closest the FBI has ever gotten to arresting me. Leaving Raquel Laroque to run free gives her the chance to try again and, this time, make sure the FBI has everything they need to keep me."

"I'll help," Bruce said.

"Perfect," Neal said, opening his book.

"And so will Dick."

Neal slammed his book closed. "You don't speak for me!"

Bruce held up a key. Ever from across the room, Neal knew it was.

A key to his anklet. He could go wherever he wanted. Do whatever he wanted. Then he could slip back into the anklet and no one would notice.

It was tempting. He liked the idea of being able to walk around New York without worrying about his radius. He hated that he was tempted.

"No," he said. He stormed over to his bed, pulled out his overnight bag and left. There was no knowing what Bruce would ask him to do if he took the key.

* * *

There was one place he could go outside his radius without having an agent with him; Peter's house. He paid the taxi driver, walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

Satchmo woofed from beyond the door.

"Hey Peter," Neal said, not even bothering to disguise the lack of energy in his voice. he was tired.

"Neal?" Peter stepped aside to let him in. "What happened? Everything okay?"

"Bruce is still at my apartment," Neal said.

"I thought you were getting along now."

"Peter," El said in a scolding voice. She was in the lounge, sitting on the couch with her work spread out over the coffee table. "One conversation won't change much. It's been ages since Neal's seen his family."

"I wish it was ages more," Neal grumbled.

"Is Wayne really that tiring?" El questioned with a warm smile. Her blue eyes sparkled with interest and tease.

"Yep," Neal yawned. "The guy doesn't sleep."

"Makes sense," Peter commented. "Jones tracked Selina to his place."

Neal stared at the agent. His mouth dropped open. Peter's eyebrow went up as if he didn't understand why Neal was disgusted. Sure, Neal approved of Selina but that didn't mean he wanted people insinuating that she and Bruce were sleeping together.

"Did you really think I wouldn't assign someone to watch her?" Peter questioned.

El smiled. "Is she really dating Bruce Wayne again?"

"I have no idea," Neal responded. "Can we talk about something else?" The headache weighing down the front of his head throbbed.

El gave Peter a worried and curious glance. Neal sighed, a change of subject it was then. "Selina approached me about helping get Raquel Laroque."

Peter frowned. "Neal, you can't accept that. There's justice-"

"In the system. I know. She wants me to help the FBI arrest her." He hoped. Selina hadn't been clear on that but she knew their code of 'no killing'. She knew working with them would end with Raquel in prison.

"Weren't you going to do that anyway?" El questioned.

Peter nodded. "We had a plan to use some of Neal's contacts to get a meeting with Raquel."

Neal nodded. He had an in; a kind gentleman fence he and Mozzie worked with. The fence, Hale, knew Raquel as well and had messaged Mozzie with the information for a meeting between her and Neal.

El thought about this for a moment. Then she smiled. "Isn't that nice? Selina wanted to catch up!"

"What?"

"She wanted to know what was going on in Neal's life," El explained to Neal.

Neal blinked. He had visited Selina on special occasions and spent evenings talking to her about things but he never figured she would do that with Neal.

"No," he said instinctively. "She just needed to make sure Raquel was being dealt with."

"She didn't need to talk to you to find that out," El pointed out. "Neal, sometimes-" she cut off.

Behind him, Peter was shaking his head.

"What?" Neal questioned, looking between them. What was El saying that Peter didn't want her to say? "What is it?"

"Perhaps she missed you," Peter said.

"Oh. Okay." He had a feeling that wasn't what El had been about to say.

* * *

El knocked on the guest room door. She came in a moment later with a towel. She knew Neal brought his own clothes and wasn't surprised to see he had changed into slacks and a singlet.

"What is it?" Neal asked, echoing his question earlier that evening. El was doing the staring thing she often did when she had something to say.

"Peter has told me about you being Dick." El sat down next to him on the bed. "Why did you leave that name and your family behind?"

"They didn't need me," Neal responded honestly. "I was just a burden."

"And they're here now because?"

Neal shrugged. "They have some use for me, I guess."

"Neal." El's voice was soft and light. It made him think that they were sharing a joke or something. "Family members don't need 'uses' for each other. So, either they are your family and don't just love you because you have a use or they're not your family."

Neal's mouth dropped open. Was she saying to choose? He didn't think he could see his family as anything but his family.

El tapped his hand comfortingly before getting up and leaving. Neal watched her go, thoughts stuttering on the 'family or not family' choice.

He grabbed his phone.


	42. Chapter 42

Jason didn't like it when his phone went off.

"Who programmed the Batman cartoon theme into my phone?" he growled as he answered. Of all the things Bruce had allowed the media to do with Batman's image, the cartoon was one of the crazier ones.

Neal laughed. "Seriously? I bet it was Tim."

"Probably. You know he's certain that Robin was supposed to be him," Jason said in a sleepy voice. Neal's phone call had woken him up.

"The one in the cartoon?" Neal questioned. "Of course it was. They put Nightwing in that show, in the costume I didn't wear until after Tim became Robin."

"Whatever," Jason grumbled. "Why are you callin'?"

"I have a question."

"Then hang up. Dial Tim and get your answer," Jason responded.

Neal frowned. "There's a reason I called you. You won't dance around the truth." After a pause, Neal explained, "when I left, I was certain you all didn't need me."

"Of course we didn't," Jason scoffed. He couldn't be certain but it felt like he could feel Neal's silence on the other end. The weight of whatever it was which caused Dick to leave. Neal believed he would tell the truth. Jason sighed. "That doesn't mean we weren't, what was that word you kept throwing around...?"

"Family," Neal said, feeling a spark of warmth in his chest. He wasn't certain if it was because of Jason's 'forgetting' or if it was because Jason had confirmed what El had been saying. "Even if I'm not useful or needed?"

Jason was silent. Neal waited for an answer.

"You're joking right? We all came here chasing you. If you want the reports of what we've gone through since you vanished, feel free to have them. I'll ask the kid to compile what he was doing to find you and Tim can send you that and whatever information Bruce was sloppy enough to leave around."

"That might help," Neal confirmed.

"Good."

They hung up and Neal dropped back into the mattress. Part of him wondered if maybe it would be worth trying again.

* * *

Peter walked down from his office. Neal wondered whether he should close the program so Peter couldn't see what he was looking at. On his screen was the restored information about Dick Grayson, which his family had put back together. Peter took one look at it and raised an eyebrow at Neal. Neal shrugged. It wasn't like any of it was new information to Peter. He already knew about the Neal's connection to Bruce Wayne's family.

"Are you ready to meet with our fence?" Peter asked.

"Hale set up the meeting. He's supposed to be there as well," Neal explained. "Peter, my contact trusts me and Mozzie and I don't like putting him in harm's way like this."

Peter placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. Neal resisted his first instinct to shrug it off as it reminded him of simpler times with Bruce.

"I'll keep your contact's information out of this. Trust me."

Neal did. But he would still be checking. Peter had been good so far at keeping Mozzie's name out of any reports but this could be different. Hale was a known fence, no matter how gentlemanly he acted.

* * *

Neal brushed his hair and put on a set of glasses. The meet was taking place at a café in the mob district. When he got there, Raquel was already seated in a black, wide-brimmed hat which marked her as the one he was meeting. Sitting just two tables down was a rough looking man, who could have been in the mob if Dick didn't recognise the jacket and the man sitting across from him.

Jason and Roy. This could be problematic as he had no idea why they were here.

"Hail my heart, hail my heart, hail my transformation," Raquel quoted as he sat down.

"Book of the Dead, Chapter 30B," Neal informed her with a polite smile. He relaxed his posture but didn't get comfortable. "Where is Hale?"

Raquel titled her head back. "I wonder the same. I'm impressed but without Hale, this is walking into the unknown. I like to know my path."

"So do I," Neal responded. "Tell me about a 3,500-year-old scarab amulet recently removed from the Egyptian National Museum. That one with that inscription on it."

"There's not much to tell. I certainly don't have it."

Neal could almost feel sorry for her. All that work for an amulet she couldn't extract. But, she was a thief who left her partner to face prison in Egypt so his pity only went so far.

"Hale trusts me. He arranged this meeting after all. May I see the piece?"

"You think I brought it?" she said. After a moment, she pulled out a bundle and passed it to him. Inside the linen was a statuette, just a little bigger than Neal's hands.

Neal rattled off the description, a shabti for protection in the afterlife except it was made from modern materials. He ran his fingers over it.

"An afternoon," he evaluated. "I can process it in an afternoon."

Raquel shifted to hide her disbelief and distrust. "Confident. And passionate. I like that. However," she waved a hand. "There's no going ahead without Hale."

"A shame," Neal sighed. "I would love to get my hands on whatever's inside. Just to see it."

"You might get to yet, Neal," a warm voice said from the door. Hale walked out of the cafe building to take a seat at their table.

"Hale. Glad you could join us," Neal said with a sigh of relief. He could tell the meet hadn't been going well without the old fence.

Hale laughed a hearty laugh. "You can thank your friend for that one."

From the table over, Jason turned and waved. Raquel frowned but looked at Hale. Hale smiled at Jason so she decided not to worry about how surrounded she felt.

"What did he do?" Neal asked in a curious tone.

Hale's lips turned down and his shoulders tensed protectively. "Don't you worry about. You can get the story from Mozzie later. We're here about a job."

"I need a restoration tech," Raquel said. "Neal here offered his services."

"Neal does like ancient things," Hale commented. Neal interjected but Hale didn't let him get a word in. "Boy, I've noticed your fascination with the greats in art, including ancient Egypt artifacts. If it's arty and old, I can be certain you're interested."

Raquel relaxed slightly, her lips becoming less tense. Neal breathed a sign of relief, which he disguised as a sigh of defeat as if Hale has seen right though him. She seemed to trust him a little more now. It looked like the job was his.

* * *

Peter didn't like this. The appearance of one of Dick's family members on their case was odd enough. That he had interacted with one of Neal's contacts made Peter, for lack of a better word, twitchy.

"Peter, I have no idea why they were there," Neal sighed as they went back to June's. "And hey, at least I'm talking to them?"

"Which I'll consider a good thing if I wasn't certain you were trying to give me a heart attack. I was moments away from stepping in with my badge."

Neal rolled his eyes. Like that would do anything. The moment they opened the door to his apartment, Mozzie jumped to his feet.

"Neal! Thank goodness you're back!" he cried.

"What?" Neal felt like a deer in the headlights. "What happened?"

"Hale was attacked and then saved by the Red Hood!"

"The Red Hood is a murder," Peter interrupted. "Why would he help Hale?" Neal bit his tongue to keep from answering that.

Instead, he asked, "who attacked Hale?" Hale was generally well liked, mostly because he was fair, had been in the business for a long time and was a gentleman.

"Vincent Adler."

Neal and Peter shared shocked looks. If Adler was back, it didn't bode well for them.

"And just when I thought this case was complicated enough," Peter said with a sigh.


	43. Chapter 43

Neal spent the next couple of nights at Peter's. He wasn't up for seeing Selina or Bruce. He ignored the worried looks Peter gave him. Peter thought he was going back to shutting his family out. He just didn't understand that Dick's family could be too much at times and Neal was going to use whatever escape method he had at his fingertips.

"You can't avoid the issue forever Neal," Peter said as they got out of the car.

"Watch me," Neal countered in a very Dick-like manner. He grinned at Peter. "Besides, isn't this much easier? We can drive straight from your place to the van since you don't have to pick me up."

"You can't live with me and El indefinitely Neal," Peter said with a sigh. He opened the van door and motioned for Neal to get in. "June would miss you."

"What's going on?" Jones asked, swinging his chair around to greet them as they stepped into the back of the unmarked white van.

"Neal's moved in because he's avoiding Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne."

Jones' eyebrows rose and he gave Neal a questioning look.

"That's not the full story."

Peter shrugged and took Neal's anklet off.

"Here you go," Jones said, holding out a watch.

Neal held the watch up to his mouth. "Jones, we have to stop meeting like this."

"I bet you say that all the agents," Jones countered. Neal shrugged back.

"Keep it simple today," Peter said. "Turn it off only when she sweeps for bugs. If I lose connection for more than a minute, I'm coming in."

"Got it."

"And the password for today is?"

"Inscription," Neal responded in a slight huff. They had gone through this before arriving.

"Call us in as soon as you confirm it's the real scarab amulet, don't wait."

"Yes," Neal droned. Peter rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Neal put on the glasses this identity wore. "Here we go."

* * *

Neal turned the golden scarab around in his fingers. It was the real deal.

"Can you read the inscription?" he said to Raquel. It was done, the FBI would storm the building soon and Selina would be glad to know that her opponent was going to prison.

A third voice answered his question, reciting the inscription from memory, "'You have come forth to the beautiful place to which we run'. Remarkable."

Alder stepped out into the room. Neal was instantly on alert. Raquel as well. She glared at Alder.

"Who are you?"

"Vincent Adler. Neal used to work for me."

"Biggest mistake of my life," Neal said, although it wasn't exactly true. "You took off with millions of dollars belonging to people who trusted you, including me."

"Your mistake," Adler responded with a shrug. He smiled coldly at Neal. "Like expecting your friends in the van to come running."

Raquel frowned at him, taking a step back. All her friendliness from earlier was gone. "You're Neal Caffrey."

"If you think I'm here solely for the Feds, you're wrong," Neal countered. He wasn't smiling but he tried to keep his voice light in a 'don't blame me' tone. "The name Selina Kyle ring a bell? She's not impressed you almost got her arrested."

"Selina... I should have known. She does like her dark-haired blue eyed toys." Raquel had made her way around the table and she paused to pull out a gun from where it had been taped underneath it.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," Adler said, calmly pulling out a black handgun of his own. "Leave us to catch up."

"Of course. I don't know what this is but I'm not getting involved," Raquel commented, edging her way out the door. Not once did she move her gun from where it was pointed at Alder.

Neal glared at Alder. "You set this up. You had the amulet stolen. You had Raquel's restorer arrested so she would need a replacement."

"Correct. Too bad you didn't figure that out a little earlier. You might have been able to keep your father and his squeeze from my reach."

Neal's breath caught in his throat at the threat towards Bruce and Selina. While he knew they could take care of themselves, he also knew that even Batman could be surprised.

"What do you want?" he demanded to know.

Alder grinned, everything going his way. "Dick Grayson. You're an interesting little anomaly. You managed to erase yourself and restart with a new life. Not even the FBI managed to figure it out.

"Here's what I want. I want you to realise that I can take your parental figures out. I have hired a sniper and your apartment has a lot of windows. I want you to agree to come with me and no one gets hurt."

Neal didn't have much of a choice. Not only was Alder pointing a gun at him with every intention to shoot it if he needed to but Alder could also take out Bruce and Selina. He couldn't let that happen.

"Okay," he said, raising his hands.

Adler walked over and produced a needle. Seeing Neal's eyes widen in distress, he commented, "much easier than a drink, don't you think?"

Neal felt a prick at his neck and then nothing.

* * *

As soon as hazy awareness formed, Neal forced himself awake. Keeping his body lax and as if he was still asleep, he started cataloguing where he was and what was going on. The floor was concrete, judging by the sound of Alder's footsteps. Neal was tied to a wooden chair with his wrists bound tightly to the arms of the chair.

He missed his Nightwing gloves and the hidden knife in the fingertips.

Alder grabbed his hair and pulled.

"Wake up," he ordered calmly.

Neal hissed in pain as he opened his eyes. Adler was smiling so things might still be going to his plan.

"Why am I tied up?" he questioned. "There's no way I can make you a new identity like this."

Adler's phone rang. "Hold on a moment," he said as he went to answer it.

Neal internally seethed while keeping his face either neutral or in a small smile. He listened while Adler greeted the person on the other side.

Then he said something which had Neal's attention. "Calm down, Agent Burke. I haven't harmed your CI. After all, I think the eldest son of Bruce Wayne has some worth."

Neal tensed. Adler was using him as Dick Grayson to bargain. But why? And to what end?

"Perhaps I'll leave you some clues. Get the FBI off my back and we'll see." Adler hung up.

"You lied to me," Dick said, eyes narrowing. There was no more smiling and acting nice. Now, he would let Adler know what it mean to kidnap him. "You don't need me to erase or forge you a new identity."

Adler stared at him. He didn't need an excuse to get Neal to come with him since he had threatened Selina and Bruce but he had used one anyway.

"Letting a person believe they're useful makes them easier to control," Alder informed him calmly. "After all, you've been talking to me instead of trying to escape."

"And now?" Dick questioned, referring to how Adler had given his game away.

"Now I leave for the relaxed lifestyle I had before I returned to this city for the treasure." He checked his watch. "And my lift should be here right now."

Adler walked away and Dick wasted no time in trying to get free. There was a chance Adler had been lying and would return to see him escaping. However, there was also a chance Adler had been telling the truth. If he did leave, it was unlikely they would find him again.

Dick hadn't been tied around his chest so he bent down and started pulling at the ropes with his teeth. His teeth ached a little as he used them to grind through the rope but he ignored it in favour of escaping and escaping now.

The rope broke and Dick wriggled his hand out of it and immediately started on his other wrist. Then his feet. When he was free, he dashed out of the room. The building was multi-storied and run down. There was an atrium in the middle, the floors spiralling around it. Dick looked over the ledge but couldn't see Adler. With a frown, he started running towards the stairs. Then out the building.

The street had cars driving past but few people. There was no sign of Alder. He was gone. Dick looked around and even walked around the building.

Adler was gone.


	44. Chapter 44

Dick ended up back out at the street, standing by the gutter and looking around. Worry curled in his chest. Adler might have arranged this to make his escape easier but Dick knew that Alder would one day return to hurt his family and friends.

Thoughts came, rapid and unclear. Dick's left side went numb as he stumbled and he shivered with heat. He should not be this tired after running down a couple flights of stairs. He hadn't been slacking off that much on his exercise and training regime, had he?

"Dick!"

"Neal!"

Neal grinned at the two familiar figures in suits running towards him. "Suits!" he greeted with a laugh. He stumbled again and cold arms wrapped around him, holding him steady. "How'd you find me?"

"Jason was following you the whole time," Bruce admitted.

Dick blinked slowly. His eyes were heavy. His breaths rattled his chest. This... wasn't normal...

"Neal, what's wrong?"

"Feel sssick," Neal slurred. A nice cold hand pressed to forehead.

"He's running a fever. He wasn't sick before going undercover, was he?" Bruce questioned Peter while Dick snuggled happily into the coolness of his hand.

"No," Peter responded with a frown.

Light blasted Neal's eyes, lancing through his brain. He hissed in pain.

"Sorry chum. This isn't normal."

'Poison' was the last word Dick heard before hot and sticky darkness claimed him.

* * *

He floated in darkness. For a moment, he was aware of his surroundings. The walls of a hospital and El sitting by his bed, Two-face standing behind her. The scarred side of his face was twisted in a grin as he held his iconic coin up and flipped it. The good side of his face twisted to convey, 'heads, she dies.'

Two-face couldn't be allowed to hurt her! Dick's body was weak but he forced it up. She tried to tell him to lie back but Dick pushed himself past her, trying to scare Two-face away. The world was too bright and too noisy and he must have been bitten by something because there was a prick at his neck and then nothing more.

He screamed in the darkness. He sang. He was bored. He slept.

Finally the heat seemed to fade and waking up seemed possible.

* * *

There were two chairs by his bed. One empty and one with Bruce in it.

"Bruce?" Dick questioned. He looked around. The rest of the room was empty. He wondered who was paying for the private room. "What happened?" His throat ached and his voice was hoarse.

Bruce reached out and rubbed one hand through Dick's hair while the other gripped his arm.

"Adler poisoned you," Bruce explained. "It was belladonna poisoning. If we hadn't had been there, you would have died."

The detectives of the family must have catalogued his reactions to the poison and tested his blood to figure out what it was. Then they got him the cure.

"I'm okay," he said. He felt pretty crummy, like he had the flu or something but it wasn't an 'I almost died' kind of feeling. The other thing was Adler. "What happened to Alder?"

"Vincent Adler was arrested," Bruce said, "and I'll tell you more in the morning."

Dick frowned. Bruce was still stroking his hair and smiling at him, like he was glad Dick was okay.

"What time is it?"

"After midnight."

Dick was tired. He closed his eyes for a moment, the echo of Bruce's hands in his hair soothing his thoughts and dreams.

* * *

It took a lot of questioning to get the whole story. As far as the FBI knew, Adler just turned up inside their building, tied up and red-faced. The man had been led away, embarrassed over being caught. He also hadn't been happy to hear that Bruce had been able to save Neal.

Tim was the one who told him about Adler's arrest. He, Jason and Damian had been watching over Neal as well when he went to meet with Raquel. He and Jason had followed Adler the moment they saw him come out. Damian had reluctantly stayed behind, just in case there was a trap for the FBI or something inside the building. Tim and Jason and watched as Adler had dragged an unconscious Dick inside the Palace.

Jason wanted to shoot the guy. Tim had been willing to hack some of his accounts but that would take a lot of prep work and too much time when Dick was in danger.

Mozzie had given his perspective of what had happened after that.

"Your 'Bat Family' accosted me and stole my taxi," he complained.

Dick tried to imagine it but couldn't get past imagining Jason holding up a taxi, let alone the one owned by Mozzie.

* * *

According to Tim, he, as Red Robin, had knocked on the window of Mozzie's cab and requested they use it. Jason had been behind him, hood off as he got into a disguise fitting of a taxi driver. Basically, he pulled a black shirt over his armor and red bat and kept his jacket on. After realising that they were going to arrest Adler, Mozzie had taken his paperboy cap and shoved it on Jason's head. He needed to attempt to cover his face in case Adler has seen him with Neal or something.

* * *

"I try to steal his cab and he gives me a hat!" Jason complained when Dick brought it up. Said hat was being tightly held in his hands.

"Why do you still have it?"

"He never asked for it back!" Jason huffed. He then proceeded to shove the hat on Dick's head. "There. You give it back."

* * *

Jason had the car idling a little outside the palace. Not so close that Alder would question the sudden getaway car but close enough that Alder would jump in at the chance to escape. To fit the image of a cabbie just pulled over for a time, Jason even had a sandwich he was munching on when Adler jumped into the passenger seat.

"Uh, passenger sits in the back." Jason played the ignorant cabbie driver well, even letting a little mayonnaise drip onto his pants.

"Just drive," Adler said, passing him a hundred.

"Whatever you say." Jason had pulled the taxi out and then accelerated. Right into a street sign, smashing towards the front passenger side of the car. While Adler was stunned, Red Robin jumped down to arrest him.

* * *

"They broke my taxi, Neal," Mozzie lamented. "She'll be in the shop for a week."

Strangeness of calling a car 'broke' aside, Dick mused, "but it was stolen. You should be covered."

"Of course," Mozzie said. "Small price to get Adler. Just, now how will I get my gossip?"

"Red Robin is good at information gathering. Ask the kid. He owes you anyway after Red Hood smashed your car in his plan."

* * *

Dick opened the door to his apartment and breathed in the homey, tinted with wood and paint scent. So much better than hospital smell of too clean and treated.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked as he followed Dick in. He had been the one to pick Dick up from hospital. Dick had tried to make sure Bruce wasn't told of his discharge date.

"Fine," Dick responded. "Looking forward to going back on Monday."

"The team will be glad to have you back. They've been worried about you."

Dick just nodded, not really believing that. Peter grinned and pulled out a card from inside one of the kitchen drawers. Dick was surprised that it was there but guessed Peter had placed it there earlier. It was a 'get well soon' card with the signatures from the team and other agents around the office. Even the clerks had signed it. Dick sat down and read each and every message. They weighed heavily in his gut and light in his chest. He amazed at how something so simple could convey that they cared about him.

When Dick finished reading, he closed the card and examined the front.

"Neal?" Peter questioned when Dick didn't move. Dick looked away from the card when he heard Peter's voice.

"Peter, be sure to thank everyone for me," he said.

Peter didn't think it would mean so much to Dick to get a card but he was glad it seemed to go over well. "One of the clerks in the office brought it when she heard that you were in the hospital with poisoning."

There was a knock at the door and then Bruce came in.


	45. Chapter 45

Dick closed the card and stood up.

"Hi Bruce," he said in a tone which wasn't happy. "What brings you here?"

Bruce tensed a little, sensing hostile attitude from Dick. "I can't visit?" he questioned. While Dick had been recovering, they had talked a little. Dick had been tired from the poison and let Bruce tell him about all the stuff they had been up to since he left and let him ask him questions about how he had been. Dick didn't feel like they had completely mended bridges, even if Bruce did.

"I know this might not be the right time but there is a bit of pressure on me to return to Gotham so, I need to know if you'll be staying here or coming back to Gotham."

Dick was floored. Why was Bruce asking something like that? "I have a radius. I can't leave New York."

Bruce and Peter shared a look. Peter was nervous and Bruce was frustrated. Dick was just confused. What was going on?

"You've been given a commutation of your sentence," Bruce said. "Because of your outstanding service and the capture of Vincent Adler."

"But I had nothing to do with Adler's capture," Dick pointed out. "I just got kidnapped by the guy!"

"And because of that, someone managed to capture him and leave him on our doorstep," Peter informed him. "Credit seems to have fallen at our feet."

Dick dropped back down into a seat and ran his hands through his hair.

"What does this mean?" he asked without looking up.

"The panel made their decision while you were in hospital," Bruce informed him. "I'm surprised that Agent Burke hasn't taken your anklet off yet."

"I was getting there," Peter responded. He pulled out some paperwork. "I wanted Neal to read through the information about the commutation and the panel's decision. Since someone pushed the whole thing forward quickly and left him out of the loop."

"I have places to be and things to do," Bruce responded in an air-headed way and with a shrug.

Peter was frowning at Bruce. Dick glared at Bruce, catching what neither of them were outright saying. Someone had affected the process.

"What did you do?" he asked Bruce.

"Nothing that wasn't due process. I spoke to the panel about how I believe you can rise to any challenge which comes your way and how I think the FBI has been good for you."

"Wouldn't Bruce Wayne taking an interesting in Neal Caffrey be enough?" Dick questioned sceptically. Bruce was known for his work in the criminal justice system back in Gotham. He often spoke at criminal hearings.

"Bruce also sped the panel up. Normally this is a process which takes months."

"While I sped it up, I didn't affect the end result," Bruce countered. "If they had taken the whole time and changed their minds, I'm sure that wouldn't have had anything to do with Neal's actions and everything to do with someone manipulating them behind the scenes."

"Neal, why is everyone you know a conspiracy theorist?" Peter questioned.

Dick shrugged, "maybe I just attract a type?"

Bruce sighed. "Gotham or New York, Dick?"

"You realise you're making me choose between two cities for no reason," Dick said, his voice dropping into the lower register he usually reserved for playing Batman. "I can live here and visit Gotham or vice versa. Or I could move into Gotham in my own time. I am an adult."

Bruce wasn't impressed with Dick's response. "You're not acting like it. You left and became a criminal-"

Dick's skin itched. Had Bruce listened to what he had said? "Get out."

It appeared not as he kept talking. "Got yourself thrown in prison for a couple of weeks-"

"Get out." Dick's heart was thudding in his ears. Every word of Bruce's felt like a stab to his heart. Why wasn't he listening? Why was he ignoring Dick's request?

"And then made a deal with the very man who caught you-"

"GET OUT!" Dick bellowed, shoving Bruce. He would have punched him but Peter knew him as a non-violent criminal. "GET OUT, GET OUT!" He shoved Bruce with every word, hoping to finally have his attention and get him as far away as he could because Bruce certainly hadn't been paying attention before. Run, run, run, Dick's body seemed to be screaming at him.

* * *

Peter placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled. It was a piercing sound which made both of them pause and stare at him. Dick hadn't been aware that Peter could do that.

"Dick, Bruce, sit down," Peter said, pointing at the chairs.

"Excuse you?" Bruce questioned.

Peter brought forward all the techniques had been taught in dealing with uncooperative witnesses. Since neither Dick nor Bruce were crying women or children, Peter was confident in his ability to mostly handle them.

"Bruce, you're ignoring Dick's panicking right in front of you. Dick, Bruce might not realise he's being pushy."

"Yeah, right," Dick grumbled sarcastically. Peter pulled out a chair for Dick to sit next to him. Dick joined him and glared at Bruce until he took the other chair.

"Now can you properly talk?" Peter said. "Or do I need to play interpreter?"

"Can you even interpret what's going on?" Dick questioned.

"Bruce is under a lot of pressure from work to return but he wants to spend more time with you so he's trying to press you into moving to Gotham and you're panicking at the thought of having to return to being under his thumb."

Bruce and Dick shared a look. Dick grinned.

"Not really. He was talking over me and ignoring that I wanted him to stop talking," Dick said.

"You didn't say that," Bruce grumbled. "You just told me to 'get out.' I'm not leaving until I get an answer."

"Why?" Dick questioned, crossing his arms over his chest, defiant. "You don't need an answer. What I do is my business."

"Bruce, a little advice," Peter said before Bruce could open his mouth and say something they'd all regret. Peter could of used Alfred's present with these two right now. "In my experience, Neal tends to run when cornered. Don't corner the kid and let him speak."

Bruce's brow wrinkled in thought. He had noticed a pattern of Dick moving around whenever something upsetting happened. It seemed obvious once pointed out but Bruce felt a little stung that he hadn't noticed this behaviour pattern in his eldest. "And how do you know that?"

"Years chasing the kid for various crimes. It's sometimes a shame that the only thing we got him on was the bonds."

"It is a shame that you couldn't uncover any of my other crimes. They're works of art."

"I really hope you don't mean that literally."

Bruce watched them converse with a sting of jealousy in his chest. It was obvious that Peter and Dick shared a bond. Something which had probably been forged through their time playing cat and mouse. He couldn't say he didn't know what that felt like but his bond with Dick had been stretched and torn over the years.

"If you really thought that, you'd tell them what you did," Bruce said to his son. There was a moment of silence as Dick absorbed the shift in Bruce's attitude from hostile to acceptance.

"Nah," he said. "If I tell them, then they didn't figure it out. That's the point, you know?"

Bruce shook his head and ignored how Dick sounded a little like some of Gotham's criminals. He knew the kid had spent too much time giggling with the Riddler over riddles and sulking with Selina across rooftops when he was younger.

"Also, I just became a free man again. I'd rather not risk it," Dick reminded them.

"So Dick, I'd like to formerly request that you take on a position as my CI," Peter said, "this time without the anklet."

Dick chuckled. "Can you take this off before I answer? I'd rather not answer and have you decide to keep me on the anklet anyway."

"He gets kidnapped enough that keeping a tracker on him always is a good idea," Bruce mused.

"Bruce!" Dick acted scandalised. He propped up his anklet on the nearest chair and let Peter remove it. "Anyway, I'll take you up on that offer. Just, on a casual or trial basis."

"You're staying in New York?" Bruce and Peter questioned in unison.

Dick nodded. "For now at least."

* * *

Dick decided that celebrating his new freedom with wine and beer was good. He poured a good glass of wine for himself and Bruce while Peter helped himself to one of his beers in the fridge.

"Figures. Neal had to get his taste for fine wine from somewhere," Peter commented as Bruce sipped his wine. The duo gave him disbelieving looks. "Anyway, Mr. Wayne? How did you find out the result of Neal's commutation? I only know because I'm his handler, the news shouldn't have reached anyone else."

"How good are you with plausible deniability, Agent? If someone asked you a question in relation to me, would you answer it?" Peter already knew from his research the kind of agent Peter Burke was. Now he just needed to know if he was like Commissioner Gordon or more flexible like Alfred.

"Depends. Is it illegal?"

"Depends."

Dick started to catch on. He wondered if Bruce was really going to do this or if he was just reading this wrong. There weren't many scenarios which fit this line of questioning from Bruce.

After a moment, Bruce decided he could probably trust Peter based on reactions to Neal's actions.

"I know because I'm Batman."


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: These are the last couple of chapters. I thought a nice way to end it would be to have some of the characters who popped up in the second story "Gotham's Aftermath" appear here and see Dick in his new life.

 

Peter stared at Bruce as if he had grown another head. He knew he had heard that right as Bruce had stated it clearly. He looked to Dick.

Dick scratched at his head nervously and avoided Peter's eyes. He knew it sounded crazy. Bruce had put a lot of time and effort in making people think that any connection between Bruce and Batman was a crazy conspiracy theory.

"Why are you telling him?" Dick asked Bruce.

Bruce crossed his arms. "I'm telling him because he needs to know exactly what he's dealing with."

Dick rolled his eyes.

Peter could hear the threat in those words. He knew that Bruce was just trying to make sure Peter knew Dick was protected but Bruce should know that such a move wasn't necessary. Peter had done more to protect Neal than he had recently.

"I am an FBI agent," Peter countered. "A law abiding citizen. I have a reputation for being fair and just and hold myself to a standard far above the average citizen." He took a sip of beer. "I am Dick's partner and friend. Grudgingly or not, you should at least respect that Dick respects me and not threaten me."

Dick's mouth dropped open. He hadn't heard Peter give the full spiel before. That he chose to give it to Batman of all people was impressive. There was the a reason he liked the FBI agent. Bruce was surprised as well. It took him a couple of moments to process that yes, the FBI agent was standing up to him, and then a couple of moments to figure out his response.

He laughed. "Good, Agent Burke." He turned to Dick. "Dick, I just want you to be happy and I'd rather you be happy where I can keep an eye on you."

"This is not my first time in New York," Dick reminded him.

"I'm reminding you I care, you little brat," Bruce responded with attitude. Dick grinned playfully in response. "And it seems I need to remind you that the Teen Titans live in New York. Tim flies between both cities often enough."

"I'm getting a motorbike," Dick started, just to see the horrified looks on Peter's and Bruce's faces. He laughed.

He bought a motorbike in black, blue and red.

* * *

When the anklet came off, the White Collar office was glad to see Neal turn up for work. Even if he was going by 'Dick' now outside of stings.

The weekly meeting finished with Peter asking Dick to stay back. Diana and Jones were interested in what was going on but Peter told them to get to work. He didn't want anyone to listen in on the conversation he was about to have with Dick.

Dick smiled innocently. He had an idea what this might be about.

"My wife calls me about a possible robbery she overheard on my scanner. We checked it out and nothing happened." Dick nodded as he recalled that. "Now I learn that my new neighbours turned up on the steps of the precinct with signed confessions pinned to their chests."

"Wow. What were they planning that attracted the attention of one of the city's many vigilantes?" Peter stared, letting Dick know he didn't buy that. Dick gave a hesitant laugh. "It's not like Batman took care of them, right?"

Peter was smart. He could put things together and enjoyed the challenge of figuring things out. It was what made him a good FBI agent.

"Dick. Do you really think I didn't figure it out the moment Bruce admitted his secret to me?"

"Honestly, I'm thinking it took a couple of days."

He was right but Peter wasn't about to admit that. Not with how smug the ex-conman was acting.

"Nightwing drops off some criminals based off a tip from my wife." He sighed. "Thanks, I guess. Don't do it again."

"Do what? Come on Peter, I'm not quitting my night job."

"Don't take a case we work together and solve it during your night hours," Peter said. "We're a team. We work together. Also, you can do the paperwork on this one."

* * *

Dick packed up his desk.

"You done for the day?" Diana asked as she walked past with files in her arms.

"Yeah." He looked at the files. "Are those going to Peter?"

Diana laughed. She knew what was coming. It had happened before. Dick liked El and didn't want her to wait up for Peter when he got into one of his 'work without stopping' moods.

When she admitted that they were, Dick took them up to Peter's office and reminded him to go home. Their conversation was interrupted by a voice from below.

"Hey! I'm looking for Dick Grayson!"

Dick rushed outside with Peter following curiously. Standing in the middle of the bullpen was a tall, red-haired man. The moment he spotted Dick, his face broke into a grin.

"Wally?" Dick questioned.

"Dick!" Wally rushed up the stairs just above the average speed of a human. He grinned and wrapped Dick in a hug. "I'm so glad you're alive! I never gave up hope but, seriously, you broke my heart, man."

"Sorry," Dick apologised.

"You have to apologise to Donna and the rest," Wally informed him with bright eyes. "We all missed you."

* * *

June smiled at the reporter. Usually she would not have let such a person into her house, but this was a special case. There was more to this reporter than it seemed. He was from Metropolis and had referred to Neal as 'Neal or Dick, whichever he prefers'. Of course, June was playing off a hunch that this reporter cared for her lodger and wasn't just trying to get a scoop.

"June?" Dick questioned as he was led into the room by the maid. He paused when he spotted the reporter.

"Clark?"

Clark grinned, a wide and happy grin. He stood up and held his arms wide for a hug. Dick looked at June, who seemed pleased with herself. She excused herself to leave them to catch up.

Dick accepted the hug. Superman hugged you gently for his super-strength but his arms were still like warm steel. Strong and unmoving.

"What are you doing here?"

"Interviewing Bruce Wayne on finding his missing child and meeting said child," Clark responded with the official reason. "You had us all worried, kiddo."

Dick rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. You weren't supposed to worry about me."

"Why wouldn't we?" Clark questioned in surprise. "You vanished without warning and no one could find you."

"But I was out of everyone's hair," Dick pouted. "There was no reason to track me down. Not unless there was some kind of world crisis, which I'm sure most of you could solve anyway. You have Bruce."

Clark frowned, leaving his hands lightly gripping Dick's shoulders. "Do you really think we have no reason to look for you? Come on, Dick. Are you saying you wouldn't look for Damian if he vanished? If he erased everything and disappeared without telling you a thing? No trackers, nothing to help you find him?"

Dick took a moment to imagine that. He hadn't any idea what had been going on in his brothers' lives since he left but he could still keep an eye on them through gossip magazines and keeping track of disasters and the appearances of Robin, Red Robin, Red Hood and the rest. If he had none of that, he wouldn't have felt good. There was a churning in his gut just trying to imagine it.

Clark could see the moment he started connecting the dots. "See?" he said.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This is the last chapter. Just a little bit to hopefully give a proper ending 'feel' to the story. Thanks to everyone who has supported this through their comments!

 

The office learnt something new about Neal Caffrey; or Dick Grayson as most people had taken to calling him. He continued to work in their office as a free man. As Jones had said to him in an idle comment one day, Dick was 'oddly popular'.

Dick didn't feel it at all. From Donna's visits to Billy Batson's, all the people turning up at the office set him on edge. It was like they couldn't even give him space for a moment. Why else would Shazam appear as Billy? It couldn't just be because he was glad Bruce had found Dick. After all, no one seemed to care enough to check up on him before.

Dick took advantage of one of Mozzie's safe-houses to contact Barbara Gordon. He sent out a request to talk and the screen flickered a few moments later with Oracle's symbol before the video chat went live.

"Can you issue a community-wide statement for me?" Dick asked.

Oracle was confused. "What?"

"I need people to stop bothering me a work. Can you send out a statement telling all the heroes who want see me to not bother me at work? You don't see me turning up on the steps of Queen Industries or Wayne Enterprises."

He could see Barbara's brain process what he was saying and everything he wasn't saying. She was frowning a little, no doubt thinking that he was running away from things again. It didn't bother Dick the way it might have before he ran off to be Neal. As Neal, he had a lot of practice at running.

"This is just for bothering you at the FBI office right?"

Dick had no trouble seeing the loopholes in that. Especially since he and Peter spent time outside the office either undercover, questioning witnesses or having lunch. "How about not during work hours?"

"Work hours could translate to all hours of the day with your schedule, Dick," Barbara commented. He had started going out as Nightwing, meaning those hours were also 'work hours'.

"Paid work hours?" Dick sighed, relenting. He guessed he would just have to blend into the shadows more than usual if he didn't want to be bothered.

"Done," she informed him. "I'll send it off to everyone who might want to visit you. I hope you appreciate this, it's a long list."

A long list of acquaintances who he rarely saw unless he or they wanted something.

* * *

Dick yawned. He had been kept up the previous night by Robin dropping in. The kid had immediately jumped on the 'paid work' loophole and visited to help Nightwing out with patrol. The visit made Dick feel like tearing his hair out and it hadn't helped that Damian had invited himself over to his apartment without asking. He knew Robin was here for a reason but he wasn't sharing.

A text from Bruce confirmed that he had no idea either.

"Wow, who's she?" Diana asked, eyes jumping to the door as a small woman with oriental features walked in. Her hair was straight and neat, her eyes shining with a brightness and understanding beyond the ordinary person and her body flowed instead of moved.

Dick dropped his head to his desk. Hadn't Oracle sent Cass the statement?

"Not while I'm at work," he grumbled to his sister. She smiled and pet him on his head.

"Couldn't wait," she said. "Movie night tonight."

Dick immediately tensed, recalling the horrible night he left. He hadn't heard anything about a movie night! What if... what if he hadn't been invited? What if it was just the family?

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said stiffly.

Cass inclined her head. "I thought so. We arranged it for you. This is your invite."

"My invite?"

"Movie night tonight," Cass recited, "will you come?"

"Where?"

"June's place. No escape."

Dick wasn't so sure about that. "I could always stay with Peter." In fact, that seemed like a good idea. He couldn't really remember a movie night with all his siblings, although he had a feeling Robin and Red Robin would be at each other like cats and dogs.

* * *

Peter eyed him suspiciously when he mentioned joining him for dinner that night. However, he decided it wasn't worth trying to get answers out of Neal. Peter figured he would get his answers soon enough. Neal was glad he had decided to not go to the movie night. A small part of him was happy that he was getting a chance to return the favour to his siblings. But he was mostly glad that he wouldn't have to deal with his siblings while he still wasn't certain about being Dick Grayson again. It was easier to be Dick Grayson when he was in the office, surrounded with people Neal knew.

"Oh! Welcome back honey," El greeted Peter. She wasn't surprised to see Neal. "Hi, Neal." There was a grumble from the other room.

"Is there someone in the kitchen?" Peter asked.

"Jason came over to try and convince Dick to go to his sibling's movie night," El said cheerily. Even so, her words sent a stab through Dick's heart. He couldn't even run here, could he? "I think I set him straight."

"Huh?" Dick questioned.

"Well, it's not fair of him to pull you away if you don't want to go," El pointed out. "And I doubt you've ever appeared to forcefully get them to join your movie nights."

Dick wondered if that would have been a good idea. His past self was the only fool who would do something like that. Now he was more likely to leave them be.

"El, the timer went off," Jason said from the kitchen.

Peter gave Dick a look, the same one he had given when Mozzie had been introduced to El.

"Jason's safe to have around my wife, right?" he asked. He had been drawing connections between members of Dick's family and members of the Batman's inner circle. The ones he drew between Jason Todd and a certain anti-hero killer worried him.

"From how he's acting, I'd say he likes your wife. He'd make a perfect bodyguard for her. Call him if she gets kidnapped and you want her back by any means necessary," Dick said. Jason wasn't raising his voice, didn't sound tense and was helping out in the kitchen. He liked El for some reason.

Peter calmed down a little, trusting Dick's judgement. It couldn't be that much worse than having Mozzie hang around.

* * *

Jason stared at Dick as they sat down for dinner. El and Jason had put together a simple roast chicken and vegetables for the night.

"About the movie night-"

"I don't want to go," Dick said. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Can I make one argument for it?" Jason asked. "Aside from the fact that we've all agreed to go, even me."

Dick glared. For some reason, Jason was being polite. How long would that last? "Fine."

"I've got a mission coming up so I'm going overseas in two days, Damian's been itching to go back to Gotham, Steph's mother would like her to come back soon and she doesn't want to leave Cass, and Timmy's the only one who can really stay here but that's only because he's connected to his laptop twenty-four seven and his team lives here."

"Busy lives," Dick muttered, not really understanding why Jason was talking about this.

"It was so difficult to find a night when we were all free!" Jason complained. "And we were all in agreement or needed little convincing that we wanted to do this before leaving."

"And that's why I tried to plan movie nights in advance. Too bad you all still managed to forget about them." The room was silent and Dick felt bad for ruining Peter and El's night.

"Yeah, okay, we suck at planning," Jason sighed. "But we're trying. You can even invite some of your friends like Wally West or something."

"It's short notice," Dick commented. Peter nodded in agreement. Although, Dick was crumbling a little. It was just one night. He smiled at El. "How would you two like to join in a family and friends movie night?" he asked.

"Dick, no," Peter groaned. It was a token protest and he agreed in the end.

* * *

Dick grinned as Jones opened the door and held up a six-pack.

"Alright, I brought beer," he said. "Who's joining?"

"Yes," Jason said with relief. "Dick's only got the cheap stuff the Suit likes." After hearing Mozzie's nickname for Peter, Jason started using it.

Jones tossed Jason a can. "Diana's sorry she couldn't make it. She's assuming that this is going to be one interesting evening but she's already made plans."

"Interesting is a good word for it," Dick admitted nervously. They had pulled up the couch and chairs from the table to accommodate everyone. Tim had rigged up a projector so there was no issue in being able to see the screen, which had been put up in front of the bookcase. Tim was currently outside, talking on the phone with the Teen Titans. They were protecting the city so that none of them could leave with the excuse of needing to patrol.

Damian was sitting on the couch with his knees up to his chest, playing with some of Neal's art supplies. He had his sketchbook and was applying paint to it while ignoring everyone else.

Jason was drinking and laughing and having a merry time with Roy, who he had invited to 'keep him from shooting everyone here'. Peter was standing near El, who was talking with Stephanie and Cassandra. He was relieved when Jones turned up, walking over to talk to them instead.

There was noise and laughter and Dick didn't feel like running for the hills so he considered it to be going well.

* * *

Wally turned up late, rushing through the door five minutes into the movie. He blinked at the subbed movie in a foreign language.

"What is this?"

"Tile of Fire," Dick sighed. "Mozzie's choice." Somehow. Dick wondered who Mozzie had got on his side in order to play this movie.

"It's a cult classic," Mozzie said. "Now shush."

"It's a movie about Pai Gow, a poker-like game played with mahjong tiles," Tim explained to Wally. "With some... embellishments."

"I can't believe I had to learn how to play from this movie," Dick grumbled. "We're lucky I didn't mess up."

"You're a great conman, Neal, you would have been fine. Now shush," Peter said, eyes glued to the screen.

Steph googled the movie using her phone. "There's five sequels?" she gasped, only for everyone to shush her.

"We're not watching them all," Jason said.

"We're barely watching this one," Jones said, "since everyone keeps talking."

"If everyone agrees to be quiet and watch the movie, then we'd be fine," Jason growled.

"Agreed," Roy said with a yawn. He was half-asleep.

The comments slowed down after that. June came in half-way through the movie with popcorn and joined them.

* * *

A couple of days later brought a robbery of a jewellery store. It was a smash and grab and Peter called Dick in to help profile the criminals and see if he could find a suspect to match. Dick was relaxed when he came in, Neal's air of confidence returned.


End file.
